


Glacier

by Fyre



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Complete, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:38:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 22,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve runs into a man who looks just like Bucky, he soon finds out there's a lot more going on than he first realised.</p><p>Alternate POV to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2276211/chapters/5001924">Thaw</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Two things you should know about this fic:
> 
> 1\. It's the alternative POV of [Thaw](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2276211/chapters/5001924), which was entirely done from the Winter Soldier/Bucky's POV. You would probably be better starting with that, but if you want to throw yourself in the deep end with this one, go for it :)
> 
> 2\. Thaw was written with exactly 1000 words per chapter as a personal challenge. This fic, to push the challenge a step further, is 500 words per chapter. *cracks knuckles* Bring. It. On.

Steve liked to think he was doing okay. 

If he wasn’t, no one could tell. 

He was Captain America, after all. People liked to see him in the uniform, the stars and stripes, stalwart and true and strong. Captain America would be doing okay. He would smile and fight the bad guys, and everything was fine. 

Steve Rogers didn’t have to smile quite so much. He didn’t have to play nice like the Cap did. 

He was adjusting to the modern world, learning and adapting. He had a team he worked with. He had a job again, even if it was taking care of Nick Fury’s dirty laundry. Sure, he was still visiting Peggy every week, but who could begrudge him that? So he sometimes went to the Smithsonian and looked at the faces of long-dead friends, what about it? 

Time had moved on, and he was just taking a little time to catch up. 

He liked to think he was doing okay.

That was when he saw the guy for the first time, in his regular coffee house.

It was habit to scout his locations, no matter where they were. He always had eyes on everything. Force of habit, not one that was easily broken. He didn’t know if it was years of dodging the bullies, or if it was something in the serum that tightened up his senses.

Either way, someone moved on his peripheral vision: a man who had been half-hidden by a newspaper when Steve had entered the café. His newspaper was lowered, folded, and he was rising. Steve knew he’d normally have spared a glance, but his eyes were drawn to the man’s face, and his heart felt like it had stopped in his chest.

Dark blue eyes passed briefly over his face as the man looked around the café. Familiar eyes that looked right through him as if they didn’t even see him.

His chest felt tight, like the old days, when his inhaler was busted and the weather turned cold.

Bucky.

The man looked like Bucky had, before the war, before Zola, before everything went wrong. 

By the time he caught his breath, the man was out of the door, and Steve – coffee forgotten – bolted out after him. It couldn’t be Bucky. Bucky was dead. Bucky fell. He fell so long ago his bones were probably already dust. It couldn’t be him.

Still, Steve found himself standing on the busy Washington sidewalk, staring around wildly for a glimpse of that face again. It was rush hour and there were people everywhere. The man, whoever he was, was gone. 

Steve retreated back into the coffee shop, shaken.

It wasn’t impossible.

Sometimes, one person could look like another, even if they had no ties, no links, nothing. 

“You okay, Steve?” Callie, the barista, called over.

Steve had to nod. Of course he was okay. Why wouldn’t he be? No need to make a big deal of nothing.

“Thought I saw someone I knew,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve went back to the café the next day, and the next.

It was dumb, but he couldn’t help himself. 

On the third day, he was up before dawn as usual. It wasn’t as if he could sleep well anyway, but now, the nightmares of Bucky’s death were back. Not that they ever really went away. More than once, he’d woken up, gasping, his sheets in shreds between his fingers. 

He pulled on his running shoes and headed out into the pre-dawn light.

There were a few other people out running.

One of them, he lapped.

First time, out of politeness, he warned the guy. Second time, he knew the guy heard him coming, saw the way he picked up his pace, and god, he needed something to cheer himself up.

“On your left.”

He heard the man’s voice crack the quiet morning air behind him. “Yeah! On your left! I got it!” The third lap was the sweetest, with the man yelling at him before he even got anywhere near him. “Don’t you say it!”

Steve couldn’t help himself. It felt a dick of a thing to do, but it made him feel better.

The man was called Sam, he later found out, as they caught their breath in the shade of the trees by the reflection pool. He was a stand-up guy, and better yet, he spoke to Steve like a soldier, instead of some kind of superhero. 

It made a change. 

Sometimes, he wondered what would happen if he lost the serum’s enhancements. How many of his new allies would stick around if he was just Steve Rogers again? Back in the day, he knew he had his Commandos, Peggy, and Bucky. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He could have stayed there, found out if Sam was that kind of person, but it was coming up on seven o’clock, and if he was quick, he would make it to the café in time.

“Nice meeting you,” he said, before jogging in the direction of the café.

He was there.

The double.

Steve almost stopped dead in the doorway, watching the man smile Bucky’s smile at the barista as she took his order. 

He made his way across the café, unable to tear his eyes from the man’s face. He was so like him, right down to the curved scar on his forehead where Bucky had cracked his head open when they’d jumped from the O’Connor’s fire escape when they were twelve.

The man didn’t even notice him coming in, and when he took his cup, started to walk away again, taking Bucky’s face with him, Steve was moving before he realised. He called out “wait!” and touched the man on the shoulder.

Startled, the man recoiled, and his coffee cup sloshed all over his hand and chest.

When the man swore, scalded with boiling liquid, he swore with Bucky’s voice, and Steve knew he was in a hell of a lot more trouble than he’d first thought.


	3. Chapter 3

The man looked like Bucky.

He swore like Bucky.

And Steve, idiot that he was, had made him spill coffee all over himself because he almost wanted to believe that it was him again. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Bucky was dead. Bucky fell and was dead, and even as he rubbed ice on the poor guy’s blistered hand, and apologised, and tried not to stare at him, he had to repeat to himself over and over that Bucky was dead. 

Just because some stranger looked like him, sounded like him, Bucky was dead. Dead because he followed Steve. Dead because he wouldn’t leave. Dead because he was – as always – watching Steve’s back. Dead, dead, dead.

It was stupid and selfish and crazy to speak to this lookalike. 

It couldn’t end well, not when he was looking for a ghost in another man.

It couldn’t end well, and yet…

Steve knew he wasn’t great at doing what he knew he should and shouldn’t. The right thing, sure, but the sensible thing, not so much. Even if it was going to hurt like hell, he’d still do it, because he had to.

That was why he offered to let the double use his dryer to clean up his shirt. That was why he found himself leading the man out of the café and in the direction of his apartment. 

He’d never invited anyone to the apartment before. He always told himself – and anyone who asked – that he was still unpacking, still getting it set up, still making it home. And yet, here he was, leading a man called Jonny with a face like Bucky up the stairs. 

It was like it had been a thousand times before, looking back over his shoulder, and seeing that face, but the eyes showed nothing. 

God, he was being an idiot.

Still, he’d offered to clean Jonny’s shirt, and it was the least he could do. Jonny only hesitated for a second before removing his shirt. His left arm caught Steve’s eye. It moved like his right, but there were creases at the elbow that didn’t fold like human skin. A prosthetic, from the looks of it.

Another confirmation it definitely wasn’t Bucky.

He had to look away, putting his back to the man, and scrubbed at the stain over the sink. He had to hold back, force himself to pay attention, otherwise, his hand was going to go right through the shirt. 

They talked too, small talk, after he put the shirt in the dryer and the more Jonny spoke, the harder it was to listen. He sounded just like Bucky, and god, it hurt to hear that after so long without. He should never have spoken to him. He should never have asked him back.

When Jonny was walking to the door, Steve knew he should just let it go. Be sensible. Do the healthy thing.

And of course, instead, he looked Jonny square in the face and said, “I’ll see you later.”


	4. Chapter 4

It was stupid.

That was what he told himself when he sat down at the computer, when he went into the SHIELD database, when he put Jonathan Victor Smith into the search function. He kept telling himself that when he found the record of the man, when he opened it.

He shoved his chair back when the file opened, turned away before he could see anything.

God, what kind of creep was he becoming?

He walked – almost ran – to the kitchen, and ran ice-cold water over his hands. He dashed it on his face, as if that would help, and leaned on the edge of the sink. It couldn't be Bucky, and looking up his files was an invasion of Jonny Smith's privacy and a violation of his trust.

He didn't go back to the computer. 

Instead, he headed out into the city, mounted his bike, and headed to the one person who would – as she put it – call a spade a spade. 

Visiting Peggy was much more painful than visiting the Smithsonian. Her mind that had always been so strong was weakening with age. Sometimes she remembered what had happened to him. Sometimes, he had to remind her, and that hurt most of all. He was late for her. Always too late.

It was a good day, for once.

She smiled when he entered, held out a hand to him, and when he leaned down, she proffered her cheek for him to kiss. “You’re early this week,” she murmured, as he sat down by the bed. Her eyes fixed on him, as bright and clever as always. “Something wrong?”

She knew him too well. That was always the trouble. And that was why she was still the only person he could talk to: she saw him, not the costume.

“I saw Bucky,” he said. It was better to get it out, while she was lucid.

The lines that creased and softened her face tightened for a moment. “Sergeant Barnes?”

He nodded curtly. “It’s not him. I know that, but he looks and sounds like him.”

“You’re sure?”

That wasn’t what he’d expected her to say. “What?”

She smiled briefly at him, sadly. “Do you know how long it took me to believe you were real? What if this person is him? Like you?”

“That’s impossible,” Steve protested. “I only survived because of the serum.”

“And yet, you said you saw him, even though you know it’s impossible,” she said. 

He slumped back in the seat. “I thought… I wanted to believe it was him.”

“Do you know who this person is?” she suggested. “Have you looked into him?”

Steve hesitated, then nodded. “I put in a search for him,” he admitted, “but it feels like I’m invading his privacy.”

Her hand covered his. “You know it’ll only eat away at you if you don’t find out.”

He turned his hand to wrap his fingers around hers. “Still trying to turn me into a spy, Agent Carter?”

She just smiled.


	5. Chapter 5

The information in the file was still open on his computer when he got home.

Like Peggy said, if he didn’t look at it, it would eat away at him. He had to know who the man was, to cement the knowledge that he wasn’t Bucky. 

It still felt like an intrusion when started to read.

There wasn’t much to learn that he didn’t already know: Jonathan Victor Smith, born and raised in Brooklyn. There was mention of a mother still living, and some other relatives. An internet entrepreneur, which explained the suits and the business-look. Just a regular Joe, nothing special about him.

Except that he looked and moved and sounded like Bucky.

He sat back in the chair, staring blankly at the screen. 

Family resemblances could be strong, and hell, maybe Bucky’s family had stayed put long after the war. He’d thought about looking them up, but he didn’t want to just have another set of tombstones to visit.

It was possible.

It was more possible than his other option.

Trouble was that no matter how closely related someone was, it was impossible that they’d have the same scars and the same body language as their long-dead great-uncle. 

No one’s mouth would turn exactly the way Bucky’s did when he thought he was being smart. No one else would pull his eyebrows together and relax them the way Bucky did. No one would have that same snaggle tooth that Bucky always hated.

Except Jonny Smith.

The file told him Jonny Smith was a real, regular guy. There was no reason to press any further, or do anything stupid. There was no reason, but an echo of Bucky was better than no Bucky at all. Steve knew he was a selfish son of a bitch. Bucky was one of the only people who ever called him on it. But Bucky was gone, and no one was there to stop him doing the worst thing he could do.

The next morning, he headed to the café and smiled at Callie. No, she said, the coffee-spiller hadn’t been back in yet, but it was still early. He gave her an envelope, a message for the man if he came back. An apology, he lied. 

He’d spent an hour trying to put together a note that sounded friendly and casual, without sounding creepy. His trash can was full of the attempts. At one point, he’d even written ‘Hi, you look like my dead best friend. Can I just stare at you? Sincerely, your stalker’. 

In the end, it was short and to the point: apology, invitation to a bar nearby, mention of the man’s meetings, and his number. 

That left the ball in Jonny Smith’s court. If he wanted to make a move, and spend time in the company of a crazy man, he had the number. If he didn’t…

If he didn’t, Steve didn’t want to think about that. 

“A love note?” Callie said with a grin.

Steve didn’t bother replying.


	6. Chapter 6

Callie’s words got to him.

It wasn’t what she was implying. It was the fact she wasn’t exactly wrong.

The stories were legendary about the romance of Captain America and Agent Carter. Mostly it had been turned into an overblown fairytale, where Peggy was a damsel in distress and Captain America was her saviour.

He would have to have been blind, though, to miss the online speculation about his relationship with Bucky. In a world where people could love whomever they wanted to, some pointed out that there was actually more footage and mention of the Cap and Barnes, than there was of the Cap and Carter.

They were speculating, sure, but it didn’t make it any less true. It wasn’t that anything had ever happened, but he had a feeling that every one of the Commandos knew that his feelings for Peggy were pretty much on a par with his feelings for Bucky. Every one of the Commandos except Bucky.

Nothing had happened with either of them, except that one brief kiss from Peggy before he leapt onto the Valkyrie.

He would never have acted on anything with Bucky either. Bucky already got in enough trouble by watching Steve’s back. The last thing he needed was Steve to come out as a faggot and earn a whole new set of enemies who wanted to kick his ass. He didn’t even know how Bucky woulda reacted. Especially, if he told him how he felt.

He tried not to think about it. Rejection or acceptance were so far out of his reach now that it was pointless to think about it.

It wasn’t easy.

He went to the gym, he pounded the sidewalk with Sam, he waited impatiently for missions, and tried not to think about it.

It was only two days, but it felt like much longer, before his cell phone buzzed with an unidentified number. The way his heart was racing was embarrassing. 

The message was only one line long: See you there, 7.30pm. Jonny.

Steve set his phone down. Maybe he was seeing things. Maybe he was imagining the resemblance. Maybe he was clutching at increasingly-fragile straws, trying to cling to some part of his lost past.

Jonny wanted to meet him again.

He ran his hands over his face. He was in the shit, right up to his neck, and all for someone he was probably just projecting on. Maybe the guy bore a resemblance, but it could just be his mind playing tricks.

He picked up his phone again, and thumbed open the message box. There were only a few people close by who he knew he could ask to play back-up.

In the end, he picked the one who would have made Peggy proud: Natasha. 

_Nat, I’m calling in that favour. You free tonight?_

**Sure :) Mission or personal?**

Steve hesitated before replying. 

_I’ll brief you when you get there. 7.15. The bar the block over from my apartment._

**Roger, Rogers!**

He almost smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

The bar was pretty quiet. It was more old-fashioned than a lot of the other places nearby, which put the younger crowds off but there were enough people scattered around the bar for Natasha to blend in.

She was sitting on a stool, waiting for him when he arrived, a glass of something bright green in her hand. “Hey,” she said, raising the glass with a quick smile.

Steve sat down on the stool beside her. “Thanks for coming,” he said.

She lifted a shoulder. “I got a free drink for being pretty,” she said, setting the glass down on the bar. She looked at him, guarded. “You still didn’t tell me why I’m here, Rogers.”

He wanted to explain, but there wasn’t enough time to cover everything. He gave her the canned summary that there was someone he needed her to get eyes on. Didn’t say why, but the fact he was asking her to be his eyes was enough to raise flags, and he wasn’t surprised when she called him on it. He had to look away, cheeks darkening with an equal measure of embarrassment and shame.

She sighed, and slid off her stool. “Okay,” she said. “Where do you want me?”

She ended up in the corner that gave the clearest view of the bar where Steve was sitting. Not prominent, but not making it obvious she was keeping to the shadows. Steve leaned on the bar, watching the reflection in the mirror behind the barman.

He saw Jonny enter, and clenched his hands into fists before turning and rising from the stool. When he smiled, it hurt his cheeks, and he knew it had to look forced as hell, but he wanted to be friendly. Needed to be friendly.

“Jonny,” he said, holding out his hand. “Glad you could make it.”

Bucky’s lop-sided smile slid across Jonny’s face. It stole Steve’s breath, as they exchanged polite small talk, and sat down at the bar. He managed to smile as he said, “I don't normally introduce myself by making people spill their coffee all over themselves. Or by doing their laundry.”

Jonny leaned closer, suddenly, intimately. With his shirt unbuttoned, in the low light of the bar, Steve was reminded of another bar, another time, another city. He barely heard Jonny say, “I guess I should feel special, huh?”

He looked so like him, the smirk, the teasing tone in his voice, the way he leaned closer, the way they always used too. Personal space was never a big thing for them.

It was a mistake. The whole thing was a mistake. He should never have come. 

Jonny was looking at him, brows raised, and Steve realised he hadn’t replied.

Shit.

He was in deeper than he needed to be. “Yeah,” he said, forcing a laugh. “So special you end up burned.”

It had to end, he knew. He couldn’t keep staring at the poor guy like he was a ghost. One drink, and they were done.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve was an idiot. 

As soon as Jonny left, he buried his face in his hands.

One drink. That was what he had told himself. Which didn’t explain how the hell he’d ended up agreeing to go out to dinner with the man. He wanted to say no, but when it came down to it, the words came out wrong. Jonny would be calling him to go out to dinner with him.

He heard Natasha approach. Normally, he would have pulled himself up, played the Cap face for all it was worth. But now, he was tired. 

“Who was that?” she asked quietly. Her voice was tight, and he lowered his hands, staring at them blankly. “Rogers?”

He looked at her and could see the concern on her face. “I don’t know,” he confessed. He had to laugh, helpless, shaken. “You see why I needed someone else to see it, right?”

To his relief, she nodded. He wasn’t going nuts. He wasn’t seeing things.

“Yeah,” she said, blowing out a sharp breath. “I saw. Barnes.”

Natasha was smart. She went through all the possibilities he’d considered, and was silent for a long while. Finally, she shook her head.

"I don't like it," she said. "There's something off about this. Of all the people to run into you, a guy who looks and sounds just like your best friend? That's too much of a coincidence."

Steve looked at her. “You think he’s a plant?” he said. It made sense: there was footage of Bucky in the show reels, enough to get someone and cut him to look like him, and train him to act like him.

Natasha glanced around the bar, then looked back at him. “I think this is something we need to discuss somewhere that’s else,” she said, getting off her stool. Her eyes slanted deliberately towards the rack of spirit bottles behind the bar, and Steve saw what she had spotted: a bug.

She waited until they were at least a block from the bar. “If he isn’t a plant, someone is paying you an awful lot of attention, Rogers,” she said. “You go there often?”

“Once in a while,” Steve said. He shook his head. “I don’t get it. What would be the point of sending someone after me who looks like Bucky?”

Natasha was silent for several minutes, then looked at him. “A distraction?”

“From what?”

She lifted her shoulders. “It’s not me they’re targeting,” she said. “Could just be a groupie. Could be something worse.” She tucked her hands in her pockets. “You going to see him again?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“But you’ll do it anyway?” Natasha said. He avoided her eyes. She sighed. “To be honest, I think you need to see him again. Draw him out, and if nothing happens, then you get some closure with the doppelganger.”

Steve nodded. It was the only option there really was. One dinner to see what else he could find out. If only it was that easy.


	9. Chapter 9

Jonny let him pick the location and the time. It was a bistro, somewhere quiet. Steve had hoped to have Natasha as back-up, but she’d been shipped out on a mission, and it wasn’t like there was anyone else he could ask. Or that he wanted to ask, really. He and Natasha both agreed that until they got some answers, it was better not to take it higher.

He arrived late. It wasn’t deliberate, but he had to steel himself to actually walk in the door, to see the man again. 

Jonny was already at the table on the raised level of the restaurant. He was sprawled in a chair, playing with his cell phone, and all Steve could think was that if Bucky was alive in this day and age, that’s exactly how he would be: relaxed, at ease, and a complete tech nerd.

He swallowed hard as he made his way up the steps, but the second Jonny lifted his head, smiled that half-smile, Steve had to brace his hand on the back of the chair. It was too much, to look at him like that.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprised his voice wasn’t shaking. “I think this is a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

It was the coward’s way out to run, but that was pretty much exactly what he did. He didn’t expect the other man to get up, to call after him, and he could only throw back an apology before hurrying out the door. 

The son of a bitch followed him. It felt like a wound being forced open as the man tore into him, calling his bullshit, just like Bucky would have done. Steve’s hands were clenched and he warned Jonny, warned him to back off, but the stupid jerk wouldn’t listen.

“What are you afraid of?” Jonny demanded, derisive.

Steve didn’t like to lose his temper, not when he knew he could kill a man with a single blow, but he lost it then. He had Bucky – no, Jonny – slammed up against the wall of the restaurant, almost lifted him right off his feet.

The guy should have been scared. He should have flinched.

Instead, he made it worse. He looked right into Steve’s panting, snarling face, and his brow creased in something that had to be concern. He was holding Steve’s arm with one hand, but he pressed the other to Steve’s chest, spreading out his fingers.

“Just breathe, buddy,” he said, words that Steve had heard from those lips a hundred, a thousand times.

Steve felt like he’d been punched in the chest. “What did you say?”

“Breathe,” Jonny said, like it was natural. “Don’t need to get worked up. Ain’t good for you.”

Steve recoiled, as if Jonny had burned him. Those words weren’t for Cap. Those words were for Steve Rogers, the man no one remembered. Those words were for the kid he’d been. Those words were Bucky’s.

He was shaking all over. “Who are you?” he demanded.


	10. Chapter 10

If he was hoping for answers, Jonny Smith wasn’t about to give them.

Steve sat down heavily on a nearby bench. He couldn’t look at the guy as he asked again “Who are you?”

Jonny didn’t come any closer or back away. He just stood where he was, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “You know who I am.”

Steve looked at him, too tired and pissed to bother with Cap face. “I know jack about you,” he said shortly. “Your name. Your job. That you moved here from Brooklyn. That’s it.” He rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “You look like someone I knew. That’s why I wanted to see you again.”

“And?”

And?

“And?” he echoed. He wanted to shake the son of a bitch until his teeth rattled. Why couldn’t he act like a normal person would and back the hell off from the guy who had just slammed him up against a wall? He got up, holding himself together. Wouldn’t be good to do anything, to hurt some jerk who didn’t know what he was doing. “That’s a fucked up reason.”

Jonny was being so damned good about it. He was all sensible reasons, looking for a friend, didn’t ask for Captain I-Have-Issues to come down on him like a ton of bricks.

“Jesus, Jonny,” Steve whispered, pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed shut. 

He had to pull himself together. It couldn’t be Bucky. It wasn’t. They knew that. He had to back the hell off now. If Jonny was a good guy or an enemy, it didn’t matter. It was getting to him, and if he was slamming good people into walls, where would it end?

He heard Jonny move closer. “Okay, okay,” he said. “So you go off your way. I go off mine.” He was close to the bench now. Steve could hear him tapping his fingers on the back. “But I wasn’t kidding. You’re one of the only people I know around here. Kinda liked that.”

“I know.” Steve exhaled. “I’m sorry about that.”

“So that’s it?” Jonny’s voice was sharp. “Sorry, Jonny. Can’t hang out anymore?”

Steve turned, looked at him. “And you’d want that?” he asked. “To hang out with someone who isn’t even seeing you?”

“You do.”

Steve felt that tight pain in his chest again. Of all the people, only a handful looked at the face behind the costume. So many of them just saw Cap and took him at face-value. “What do you mean by that?” he asked tersely.

For a second, Jonny looked as confused as him, as if he couldn’t understand his own words.

“I don’t know,” he said, rubbing his brow. He offered Bucky’s self-deprecating half-smile, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Look, Steve, you have my number. You know where to find me, if you want me.”

When he turned and started to walk away, it took everything Steve had not to call him back.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve didn’t sleep that night. He tried for three hours, then gave up. Punching the bags at the gym didn’t help, not after he busted the fifth one. Running wasn’t any good either. He did two laps, but that was more than enough, and he was sitting on the bench blindly staring at the sunrise reflected on the pool when Sam finally caught up with him.

“You okay?”

He looked up, tried to smile. “Sure,” he said. “Just didn’t want to make you feel inadequate.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose, and he dropped down onto the bench beside Steve. “Y’know,” he said, stretching out his legs in front of him, “gotta say I love the smell of bullshit in the morning.”

Steve glanced at him, then back at the pool. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s got you down,” Sam observed. “That means it’s not nothing. Nothing doesn’t bother people. Something bothers people. So, by law of averages, this is something.”

“You using math on me?” Steve snorted half-heartedly.

Sam stretched his arms. “Nah,” he said. “Just saying.”

Steve nodded. If he could have explained, he would have, but how the hell was he meant to say that he was seeing his dead best friend in some guy who wanted to befriend him without it sounding nuts? 

He glanced at Sam again, unsurprised to find the man was looking at him. He wasn’t pitying, just calm, placid, making himself visible and available. Steve knew he could talk to him, but he also knew he wouldn’t. Sam probably had more than enough vets to deal with at his work. He didn’t need one on his down time.

Steve’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, grateful for an excuse to look away. It was a message from Natasha. He was being called on by Fury and she was on her way to pick him up. 

It was an easy exit from a conversation he wasn’t ready for. He still slapped Sam companionably on the shoulder, said he’d give him some time to pick up his pace. Sam just rolled his eyes, smiling wryly, as Steve left.

Natasha was waiting by the sidewalk.

“How’d it go?” she asked, before he even shut the door.

“The run?” Her eyebrow arched. “The dinner, then?”

“The dinner,” she agreed.

He was silent for a moment. “Badly,” he said. “If he’s a plant, they did their homework. That wasn’t just based on Bucky from the show reels.”

Natasha knew when to stop asking questions. She just nodded, turning onto the main street. “Nick needs you in Europe,” she said several minutes later. “Didn’t give me any of the details, but you’re shipping out today.”

“Convenient,” he observed.

She slanted a glance his way. “Don’t tell me you don’t appreciate the break.”

He couldn’t deny it, and kept his eyes on the road. “What about you?”

“I’m sure I can find something to entertain myself,” she replied, smiling serenely.

There were some questions it was safer not to ask.


	12. Chapter 12

Steve didn’t know if it was coincidence that had an emergency mission come up on his second day in Europe. He just knew that Natasha and the Strike team swooped in, snatched him from Switzerland, and he was briefed en route.

There was a ship, the Lumerian Star, which had come under attack by a mercenary group of pirates. The fact that the ship was trespassing wasn’t great news, but he had a job to do, even if it wasn’t exactly his idea of a good mission.

“Fury has a reason, I’m sure,” Natasha murmured, as they suited up.

“He always does,” Steve said with a snort, as he adjusted his radio frequency. He glanced at her. “How was your day off?”

She clipped her cuffs in place, flexing her fingers. “I’ll let you know,” she said, inclining her head slightly. The Strike crew didn’t need to know about their private investigation, and he nodded. The mission first, then they could talk.

It didn’t go as planned. Turned out Natasha wasn’t even there for the same reason as him, and by the time they got back on the carrier, Steve found he didn’t even care what she’d been doing. Being part of a unit was one of the things holding him together. Having people doing their own thing, almost getting them killed, wasn’t helping. 

“Rogers…” she called, as he disembarked.

“Not tonight, Romanoff,” he said curtly. 

He knew he was meant to debrief. He knew there were protocols to follow, but if no one else was following them, he wasn’t going to bother. He went home, stood under the steaming shower for an hour, then sat down on the couch with a beer. That, at least, he could do.

The beer was flat and barely touched when his cell buzzed. Not the SHIELD provided one, but the kind Stark had given to each of the Avengers. Only they had the numbers.

Natasha.

He stared at it, then reluctantly answered the call. “I said not tonight.”

“It’s Barnes.”

Steve stopped breathing, his heart beating painfully. 

He was silent so long that Natasha quickly spoke. “I caught him in a café. Managed to get a DNA sample from a coffee cup. Got a friend to run it, off SHIELD books. It’s him, Rogers. It’s Barnes.”

Steve’s throat felt tight. “That’s impossible,” he said hoarsely. “I don’t see how that could…”

“DNA, Rogers. You think I’d tell you if I hadn’t checked?”

His hand was shaking as he ran it over his face. “No, I know you checked. I just… this… it can’t be.” 

“I’ve got the files,” she said quietly. “All the samples and tests they ran for me.” 

It had to be a trick. It had to be wrong. It couldn’t be Bucky, but she said she had evidence, and for all that she was a master liar, he had to believe she wouldn’t knowingly lie about something like this. 

“Okay,” he agreed. “Meet me. Usual place. I want to see.”


	13. Chapter 13

The usual place was the bench where she picked him up near the Smithsonian.

He sat down beside her, and she handed him a file without a word. Some of the information in it related to Jonathan Smith, including birth certificates and documentation, but he flicked past all that and straight to the DNA tests.

There was no question of it. Every element of the chart matched, every allele. It wasn’t a relative or a descendant or anything else. 

Jonny Smith was Bucky Barnes.

“Where did you get Bucky’s DNA?” he asked finally. “The original sample?”

“He got checked when you got him out of the HYDRA base,” she replied, wrapping her coat more tightly around her. “There was a blood sample on ice.” She looked at him cautiously. “I didn’t want to tell you until I had something.”

He nodded silently. He understood that. He spread his hand on the chart. It was Bucky, and he was alive. He was alive, but he had no idea who he was. There were moments when there were glimpses of who he was there, but he wasn’t himself.

Jesus. 

Steve had to close the folder, running his hand over his face. Who’d had him? Who’d stripped him of his identity? Why had they done it? Why send him to Steve now? There was no question in Steve’s mind: he had been sent. It wasn’t chance or coincidence. Fate wasn’t that cruel.

“What are you going to do?” Natasha asked quietly.

He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he confessed. Nothing had prepared him for a result like this. Nephew, relative, something like that, sure. But actually having Bucky there? A Bucky who didn’t know him or recognise him. He looked at her. “Thank you. For doing this, I mean. You didn’t have to.”

One side of her mouth turned up. “Yeah, I did,” she said, getting up. “Be careful.”

He looked down at the folder in his lap. “I always am.”

She laughed, brief and quiet. “Sure,” she said.

He listened to the tap of her boots as she walked away, and opened up the file again. By the pale yellow light of the street lamp, he read through it again. 

It was Bucky, and now, Steve knew it. That had to be a good thing. Even if Bucky didn’t know who he was himself, he still remembered enough to tell Steve to breathe when he got worked up or pushed him into responding when anyone else would have let him brood in silence.

That meant Bucky was still in there, somewhere.

Steve took out his cell phone and opened up a message. His heart was thumping too fast as he typed: _Jonny. If you’re still interested, maybe we could meet up some time. S_.

He didn’t hesitate before sending it. Bucky needed him to be his usual, stubborn, pig-headed self and throw himself into a situation that made all of no sense. 

It was as simple as that.

Bucky needed him.


	14. Chapter 14

It wasn’t a surprise that Jonny didn’t reply at once, and when he did, he was curt and abrupt almost to the point of rudeness. All the same, he said when he was free, and left it to Steve to pick a place and a time.

The bar was a safe bet, so Steve sent that.

There was no reply, and he spent the rest of the night looking at his phone. He could barely sleep, and when he woke, there was still no reply.

He had no idea what he was meant to do when Jonny – Bucky – showed up. He had no idea how to help someone regain memories, or if it was even possible. Maybe the memories would be traumatic. Maybe it would be worse.

In the end, he went down to the VA to look for Sam. He was working so it was okay to approach him, and god, Steve needed someone who knew how to deal with a brain that had been screwed with. 

Sam was in the middle of a group session, and Steve remained by the door, not wanting to intrude. When Sam spoke, he was earnest, and what he was saying felt like it could have been tailor-made for Steve. Hell, every person in that room was a vet. Maybe they hadn’t seen the same wars, but the same problems came home with them.

He waited out in the hall, relieved when Sam came out to him.

“Pretty intense,” he said.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a smile. “I’m glad you came by for it.”

Steve hesitated. “I hate to do this,” he said, “but I need your help.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose and he motioned for Steve to follow him. He had a small office off the main corridor, not much more than a desk and two chairs. “That doesn’t sound like corridor talk,” he said, closing the door behind them. “What’s up?”

Steve self-consciously sat down on the chair facing the desk. “It’s going to sound kind of crazy,” he said, “but hear me out.”

Sam pulled his chair around from behind the desk, sitting down closer to him. “Shoot.”

As briefly as he could, Steve summed up the events of the last couple of weeks. He kept waiting for Sam to look sceptical or surprised, but he didn’t. He just listened, nodding, until Steve finished.

“And there’s no question it’s him?”

“None,” Steve replied quietly. “He just doesn’t remember.”

Sam leaned back in his chair. “Way I see it, you have two choices,” he said. “You can be there and let him remember in his own time.”

“Or?”

“Trigger his memories of who he was. Early ones, before the war. Childhood memories are the ones that stay with you, even if they’re buried deep. The ones that make you who you are.”

“How?”

Sam spread his hands. “You know him,” he said. “You know what he liked best.” 

Steve nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “I think I know what I can do.”


	15. Chapter 15

Bucky was coming to his place.

Steve had sent a message, offering to have dinner at his apartment instead of going to the bar, and Bucky had agreed. It meant he had a hell of a lot to get done if he was going to start jogging Bucky’s memories.

He remembered reading up on sense memory once before, how sights and taste and scent and sound could all be used to bring back memories. 

He remembered the first time he’d gone down to the river after he returned, to the now-abandoned dock where he caught the HYDRA operative. Even with the city turned modern around him, the rust and metal and mix of salt water and fresh brought back the memories of that day like a wave.

That was what he had to try and do for Bucky. 

He’d let Natasha know about his plans on the cell Tony had given him. It was safer. She told him to keep Bucky distracted as long as possible. Easier said than done.

First thing was the look. He couldn’t exactly look the same, but he could dress back the way he had. There were thrift stores where he found suspenders and an old-fashioned shirt. 

He already had beer from the home-brewer upstate. It always surprised him how chemical modern beers tasted, and even if he couldn’t get drunk, there was something comforting in the taste of a beer that was like the ones he and Bucky snuck each other in their youth.

The toughest part was putting together the stew the way they used to eat it. He had to raid a local market and get all the produce as fresh as he could. He didn’t have time to make the biscuits fresh, so he had to go store-bought, but the stew was the thing. That was what they had eaten when money went short, when everything they had left was tipped into a pot and boiled until it was soft.

It was bubbling in the pan when he saw Bucky approaching the building.

Steve checked himself in the mirror in the bathroom. His hair was brushed to one side, and the suspenders were too short to stretch over his shoulder, so he’d had to leave them hanging from his waist. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done that before. He rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. That was the look he needed: Steve Rogers as he would have been in his own home, casual, at ease.

The last thing he did was switch on the record player, just as Bucky knocked at the door. It was a record from after the war, something to ease him in gently. The next one in the stack, though, had been picked specifically.

He went to the front door, paused. His hands were shaking, his palms damp. He wiped them on a cloth, then took an unsteady breath, and opened the door.

Bucky was there. Bucky. Alive. Whole.

He couldn’t keep from smiling. “Hey.” 


	16. Chapter 16

Steve knew he should be happy that Bucky was back, but as Bucky looked around, picked up a photo of Steve and his mother without any sign of recognition, it was like a blow.

“Me and mom,” he murmured, from the doorway of the living room.

Jonny – Bucky – set down the frame with a clatter. “I didn’t think you were ever that small.”

Steve barely managed to hide the flinch. Those words reminded him of another time Bucky had noticed his size, when he had remembered him. “Yeah,” he said. “I used to be a lot smaller,” he said. 

Bucky’s eyes flicked over him, as if he had never seen him before. “Not so much anymore, huh?”

Steve’s throat felt tight, and he knew his voice would break if he tried to speak. He shook his head instead. He needed a moment, a second to gather himself. He swallowed hard. “You want a beer?”

Bucky shrugged. “Sure,” he said.

Steve walked stiffly to the kitchen. He almost staggered and had to brace his hands against the edge of the sink, staring down at the drain. 

Bucky. It was Bucky. He had to hold onto that, to the fact that his friend was still in there, and could be brought back.

“You okay?”

Steve straightened up sharply. He hadn’t even heard Bucky come into the kitchen, and that was unsettling. Bucky could move lightly when he was on a mission, but never when he was off them. He would clatter around on purpose. Did that mean Bucky was on a mission? Or had he forgotten all about that too?

He turned, forcing a smile. “Long day,” he lied. He fetched the beer, and reluctantly admitted what he knew Bucky – Jonny – already knew: that he was Captain America. 

Turned out Bucky wasn’t oblivious to the fact his face was also up at the Smithsonian, but it looked like he’d been played as much as he was trying to play Steve. He dismissed it, as if it wasn’t important, a coincidence. 

Steve wanted to find whoever took him, stripped him of everything that made him himself and turned him into whatever the hell he was, and kick the seven shades of hell out of them.

Still, he smiled and smiled, because Bucky needed him to. He watched Bucky drink, watched him pause, frown, looking at the bottle. It tasted like his pop’s beer. Bucky had to remember it. Home-brewer, Steve said, as if he hadn’t chosen it on purpose.

Bucky looked at him. For a split-second, the amusement in his eyes seemed genuine. “You’re really going all out old-fashioned on me, aren’t you?”

Steve’s cheeks hurt with the effort of smiling. It felt false, but Bucky needed him to smile, to encourage, to be there. “Sometimes, it’s good to remember the way things were,” he said, holding out his bottle. 

Bucky tapped the neck of his bottle to Steve’s, like he always did. “To the old days,” he said.

“To remembering,” Steve murmured.


	17. Chapter 17

The triggers were working.

Steve wished he could be happy about it, but he could see the flickers of confusion in Bucky’s face as he served up food the way he used to, broke a biscuit the way he used to, crumbled it, and even started dunking the rest, the way he used to. What was it like, Steve wondered, not to know why you were acting a certain way? It had to be terrifying.

He didn’t realise he wasn’t eating until Bucky gave him a look. “Not hungry?”

Steve quickly drew on a smile. “Sorry,” he said. “I get caught up, worrying about whether I screwed up or not.”

They almost shared a laugh over Steve’s lack of hosting skills, but only almost. There was a tension in the air, and Steve didn’t know if it was just from his side or if Bucky was feeling it too. 

Bucky took a swig of beer from the bottle. “So why me?” he said. “And if you say this is because I look like some guy again…”

“It’s not,” Steve said grateful for the chance to be honest. “It’s nothing to do with how you look.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. He set down the bottle, leaning back in the chair. “So what?”

Steve hesitated, poking at his stew. They were on shaky ground now. He didn’t want to lie, not to Bucky, but the truth was a mess. 

“I don’t have many friends,” he said finally. The truth told to a degree would be enough. “Yeah, when we first met, I wanted to spend time with you because you reminded me of someone I’d lost. Now, I realise what a jerk I was being. I should have tried just speaking to you. Get to know you.” He offered a cautious half-smile. “I don’t know many people around here,” he said, echoing Bucky’s words from earlier in the week. “I’d like to get to know you.”

Bucky was still watching him, like he used to watch targets, assessing them. Steve tried to act like that was normal, looking down at his food and using a biscuit to mop up some sauce. Let him watch. Let him remember.

The first record finally trailed to a halt, and Steve glanced over. The next one, Bucky’s favourite, was waiting to go on. He didn’t know if it would do anything, but the food, the beer, the picture, got him flickers. Maybe it would. It was worth a try.

“You want to put on the next record?” he suggested.

Bucky snorted over his lack of CDs, but got up and went over. He switched the records over. Steve set down his cutlery, watching him.

It worked. 

Bucky’s hands slammed against the edge of the shelf. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. He looked like he was shaking. Too much. He was overwhelmed.

Steve got up, intending to switch it off.

“Jonny?”

Bucky swung around, looked at him in terror.

Then he made his excuses and ran.


	18. Chapter 18

Bucky was gone and Steve was left sitting in a hollow echo of his past life.

On autopilot, he gathered up the dishes, cleared up the kitchen, and fought the urge to go after Bucky and see if he could do anything to help. He couldn’t. He knew he couldn’t. Not now, not yet. Bucky had run for a reason. Chasing him down would only make things worse.

He went to his bedroom and took off the shirt, looking at it.

He wasn’t that guy anymore. He couldn’t go back. Maybe Bucky wouldn’t be able to either, and that was a brutal thought: to have Bucky there, right in front of him, and to know that helping him remember would only distress Bucky. Was it cruel to make him remember, or better to leave him a blank slate? Would it be a kindness? 

Steve folded the shirt up, carefully, slowly.

He wanted to hit something or someone. Specifically the people who were responsible for whatever was happening. 

He set down the shirt and sat down on the bed, taking his cell phone out of his pocket to send a brief message to Bucky: _Hope you’re okay, Jonny. You didn’t look too good. Let me know you’re okay? S._

Maybe it was selfish and stupid, but he wanted Bucky to know he wasn’t alone and that someone at least gave a damn about his well-being. Bucky could answer if he wanted, but he had to know he had someone who would help, if he needed it.

Steve wasn’t surprised when there was no reply.

The rest of the food needed cleared away, and he was standing in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil when he heard a sound behind him. He knew better than to say anything, and glanced sidelong. In the polished surface of the refrigerator, he saw Natasha’s reflection.

She put her fingers to her lips, motioned to him to follow her out onto the landing. He complied, walking as soundlessly as he could, and shut the door of the apartment behind him. If he was being bugged in his local bar, they didn’t know his apartment was safe to talk.

“Anything?”

She held out a laptop, and he flipped it open. The data all related to Jonathan Smith’s business, downloaded directly from the computer in the apartment Bucky was currently living in. Steve didn’t ask how Natasha had found it, or got in. 

“The security protocols were intensive,” she said. “There was another layer of encryption I couldn’t get through. We only got what they would let anyone see. Whoever this is, they have reach and incredibly smart people working for them.”

Steve nodded. It wasn’t a surprise. He flicked through the files. 

“How’d this dinner go?” she asked finally.

Steve didn’t look at her. “I triggered something to freak him out enough that he ran,” he replied, “so all in all, not exactly great.”

“Well,” she said sympathetically, “that sucks.”

“Yeah,” Steve murmured. “It does.”


	19. Chapter 19

There was no reply.

Twenty-four hours went by and nothing.

Steve didn’t think he was worrying unduly, not after seeing how panicked Bucky was when he ran. There was no reply to the message. He tried calling Bucky’s number. Bucky’s cell was switched off, but he kept trying, every couple of hours. 

Natasha told him Bucky’s apartment was empty. Steve felt ill. Bucky had only just come back, and to lose him again was the last thing he wanted. 

He tried to distract himself, even went down the VA and stared blankly at Sam’s door. He didn’t know what he could say to him. Didn’t know how to explain what had happened. He ended up walking away before Sam even knew he was there.

Visiting Peggy wouldn’t help. As much as he loved her, if she was having a bad day, if she couldn’t remember, the thought of dealing with someone else who looked at him in confusion and surprise was unbearable. 

In the end, he rode his bike as far out of the city as he could. The quiet should have helped, but it didn’t, and by evening, when he rode back, he stopped on the outskirts of the city, looking at his cell. 

There was a message from Natasha. She hadn’t seen Bucky return, but the light was on in his apartment. If Steve wanted to try calling, now would be the time.

He hit the dial button, waited, waited.

After an impossible amount of time, Bucky picked up.

“Yeah?” He sounded like hell.

Steve’s mouth felt dry. “Jonny?”

For several seconds, all he could hear was Bucky’s breathing, rasping. “Yeah,” he said. “Steve. Hey.”

He was alive and he was conscious. The relief washed through Steve. “Thank god,” he breathed. “Are you okay?”

The answer came slowly. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s been two days,” Steve said unsteadily.

“Huh?”

Jesus Christ. If he couldn’t even remember that, what the hell had happened to him? 

Steve tried to keep his voice level. “Jonny, you were at my place two days ago,” he said. “Jesus, I thought you’d been hit by a car or something. You just dropped off the grid.”

Another long silence.

“Yeah,” he said too slowly. “Didn’t feel so good.”

He sounded like he’d been hit on the head or drugged or something. “You don’t sound so good,” Steve said, worried. “Do you need help?”

There was a crash on the other end of the line. Something falling, breaking.

“I don’t feel so good,” Bucky said distantly.

Steve looked out on the city. “What’s your address?”

“What?”

“Your address, Jonny,” he said, trying to be as patient as he could. “You need someone to help you.”

Bucky was silent again. “I need to sleep,” he said abruptly and disconnected the call.

Steve stared at his phone.

Fuck it. If Bucky was ill and helpless, he didn’t care about keeping his distance. 

He called Natasha, and before she could speak, said, “Give me his address. Now.”


	20. Chapter 20

The apartment was in a decent building, with a parking lot beneath it. Exactly the kind of place a young internet entrepreneur would live. Whoever had sent Bucky was thorough in creating a credible background. 

Steve – carrying a bag of supplies from a nearby store - knocked on the front door first, but there was no reply. There was a window at the end of the hall with an emergency light over it. Rather than busting the door down, Steve headed that way. He scrambled out onto the fire escape to make his way along to Bucky’s apartment.

He peered in through the glass. The curtains were open, and he could see Bucky sprawled out on the bed, motionless. The bedroom window was locked, but the window for the kitchen opened. He slid in over the sink, landing lightly on the floor. 

The bedroom was cast in half-light from the street lamps as he made his way in. He could hear Bucky’s breathing, rasping. The man was on his side on the bed, head pillowed on one arm, the other flung over his head. He was pale, drawn and haggard, but he seemed to be sleeping.

Steve breathed out quietly, looking around. The place was sparsely-decorated, the walls bare, and there was a smashed glass and a pool of water on the floor. 

He left Bucky sleeping and set to work. By the time he’d cleaned up the broken glass and filled a pan to cook up some soup, it was almost pitch dark outside. He’d gone through the apartment, looking for any clues as to who was manipulating Bucky, but found nothing. He returned to sit at Bucky’s bedside, waiting for him to wake.

It happened suddenly. Bucky coiled in tightly on himself, caught in the throes of a nightmare. His eyes snapped open, staring blindly ahead, a small, stifled sound of pain caught in his throat.

Steve reached out, grasping his shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly.

Bucky was off the bed like a startled cat, on his feet on the far side and backed into the corner of the room. He was swaying, his pupils dilated completely. Drugged, then, and heavily.

He squinted at Steve, as if he couldn’t place him, but finally, he spoke, hoarse. “Steve?” He blinked three times, slowly. “What are you doing here?”

With care and negotiation and a confession of stalking and breaking and entering, Steve managed to persuade Bucky to get back into bed before he fell. 

“Just let me look after you, okay?” he said, mopping Bucky’s sweat-soaked brow with a cloth.

Bucky subsided back against the pillow weakly. “Do I get a choice?”

Steve almost smiled. “Not this time,” he said. “You’re a captive audience.”

Bucky snorted faintly. “Punk.”

Steve went still. No one had ever called him that but Bucky. “What?” 

Bucky’s eyes opened, glazed, and unfocussed. He didn’t say anything. He just stared at Steve for several seconds, then turned on his side and threw up on the floor.


	21. Chapter 21

The whole situation was wrong.

Bucky always had the constitution of an ox. Steve could count the number of time he’d been ill on one hand. He always enjoyed the attention, no matter how sick he got, because it happened so rarely.

Now, though, he was as sick and irritable as Steve had ever been in his youth. Steve had been ill so often that he snapped at anyone who ever tried to take care of him. He lashed out verbally, when he couldn’t physically. 

That was what Bucky was doing now. Their roles had been reversed, and Bucky was sick and weak and hating every second. Fevers shook him, but he stuck out his jaw, scowled, and acted like it was nothing. Minute by minute, hour by hour, his frustration was mounting.

Finally, he struck out, knocking a bowl of soup flying from Steve’s hands.

Decades had passed, but Steve remembered Bucky’s response well enough. It was probably the only thing that could get through to him.

He took a breath then slammed Bucky back against the bed. He saw the surprise – not fear, thankfully – in Bucky’s eyes.

“Listen, Jonny,” he said, in the calm, reasonable tone that Bucky had always used on him. “The sooner you eat your mulch, the sooner you can make me leave.” He pressed his forearm against Bucky’s chest, holding him there. He could feel his heart racing. He leaned closer and continued, smiling pleasantly. “I’m not leaving you here until I know you can look after yourself. You act like a dick, and I’ll pay you back in kind. You understand?”

Bucky stared at him for just too long, then snapped, “Yes, sir, Captain America, sir.”

Steve wished he could have smiled because of the tone, but it wasn’t Bucky, and it wasn’t teasing. “Jackass,” he said so softly he could barely hear it himself.

He cleaned up the mess of soup, fetched a fresh bowl, and this time, Bucky let Steve feed it to him. Propped against the headboard of his bed, his eyes stayed fixed on Steve’s face, a frown furrowing his brow.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked finally, when the soup was done.

Steve met his eyes. “Because you need someone to.”

Bucky shook his head slowly. “You don’t even know me. Why the hell do you care?”

Steve didn’t want to – couldn’t – lie to him. He just cuffed Bucky gently across the face, just like he always had. “Because I’m a hero,” he said with a wry smile. “I do heroic stuff for the dumbasses who can’t do it for themselves.”

Bucky stared at him, then turned his face away, closing his eyes.

Too much, Steve thought unhappily. Too personal.

“Do you need anything?” he offered, sitting back on the edge of the bed, the empty bowl in his lap.

Bucky was silent for a long time. “No,” he finally said.

He was lying, Steve knew, and there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.


	22. Chapter 22

Steve had been in Bucky’s company for nearly twenty-four hours.

Neither of them had slept since Bucky first woke, Bucky out of wary defiance, and Steve out of concern that if he even tried to nap, Bucky would try to bolt despite being as unsteady on his feet as a newborn calf. 

When night finally fell, Bucky turned his face away from Steve again and closed his eyes with a deliberation that told Steve his presence and attention weren’t wanted or needed.

Reluctantly, Steve withdrew. He felt spread out too thin, exhausted. 

When he switched on his cell, he was unsurprised to see several messages from Sam and Natasha. He didn’t know what to say to them. He pushed the phone aside, and folded his arms on the table, laying his head down on them, just for a moment. 

He was woken by hoarse screaming.

He was on his feet, running for Bucky’s room, before his eyes were even fully open. Bucky was thrashing in the bed. He’d torn at his left arm. Steve could see metal gleaming between scraps of prosthetic flesh

Steve scrambled across the bed, wrapping Bucky up in his arms. Bucky flinched, keening, but Steve held him close, rocking him like a scared kid.

“Easy,” he whispered, not trusting his voice not to break. “Easy.”

Bucky was shivering, whimpering, in his arms, and buried his face in Steve’s chest. His heart was racing, and he was breathing raggedly. Steve didn’t know what he could say or do to help. 

“I’m here,” was all he could say when Bucky’s hot face pressed against his throat. “I’m here.”

“Steve…” It was barely a breath on his skin.

“Yeah, buddy,” Steve whispered. “I’m here.”

To his surprise, Bucky drew back, and he lifted his right hand to touch Steve’s cheek. He was staring at him, focussed, intent.

“I know you,” he said uncertainly, “don’t I?”

Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

Bucky flinched as if that was the wrong answer. He pulled back his hand, covered his eyes. “Mission,” he whispered, “Yeah. My mission. You’re my mission.”

Steve wanted to weep for him. He caught Bucky’s wrist gently. “No,” he said. “Look at me, Buck. Just look at me.”

Bucky lowered his hand. “I’m not him!” he said sharply. “I’m…” He flinched, and Steve’s breath was coming too tight in his chest. “Jonny. I’m Jonny.” He looked at Steve, then recoiled. “Don’t look at me like that. Don’t.”

“I can’t help it, Buck…” Steve whispered. How could he look at him any other way?

“I’m not him,” Bucky whispered, but he sounded lost. “I’m not.”

Steve grasped Bucky’s hand, pressed it against his own chest. “You are,” he said fiercely. “Buck, we did tests. My friend had people run your DNA. You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re not Jonny. You never were. You’re James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky stared at him, emotions warring on his face. 

Then, without warning, he leaned up and kissed Steve full on the mouth.


	23. Chapter 23

Bucky was kissing him.

Steve recoiled as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice-water over him.

“Buck, no,” he said.

Bucky stared at him, confused, disorientated. “What?”

Steve was still holding him, cradling Bucky’s head. No matter how much his heart was racing, no matter how much he wanted to indulge, he couldn’t. Bucky was being manipulated. It was all a lie.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said as gently as he could. “We know why you were sent here: that you were meant to get close to me.” He tried to smile. “You don’t have to do that. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Bucky’s eyes were on his, but they dropped to his lips. Bucky’s trembling fingertips touched where his lips had been, warm and light. Steve swallowed hard.

“What if I want to do that?” Bucky whispered. “God, what if I always wanted to do that?”

Steve wished it was true, wished it had been back then, but it wasn’t. Bucky liked dames. No matter what his enemies had wedged into Bucky’s head, wishful thinking wouldn’t help anyone.

“They’re just making you think that,” he said. 

Bucky’s eyes came back to his, then he lowered his head, burying his face in Steve’s throat. Steve pressed his eyes closed, Bucky’s breath hot against his skin. It only got worse when Bucky whispered, “Bucky loved Steve Rogers.”

He should have pulled away. He was too close, treading the fine line, and Bucky’s lips were against his neck, and he was playing right into his enemy’s hands, taking the bait. He didn’t know how they knew. He’d been so careful, for Bucky’s sake, for years.

“They just told you that, Buck.”

Bucky shook his head vehemently. “All data collected from historical sources,” he panted. “Citations available. Speculation only. No corroborating evidence.” He exhaled and his breath was hot. Steve trembled as Bucky – sounding more like himself – said, “Bucky Barnes loved Steven Grant Rogers, and the stupid little punk didn’t know it.”

Impossible. Lies. It had to be. They couldn’t have both been… they couldn’t have both kept it from each other, not them…

“That…” he began, then faltered. “Buck, you didn’t…”

“Don’t you tell me what I felt, you stupid pig-headed ass!” Bucky snarled against his neck. “I know.”

Steve felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “Why are you telling me? Why now?”

Bucky laughed, bitter and violent. His hand was pressing to Steve’s chest. “Lost everything else,” he said. “Still have that.”

He…

No…

Steve was staring, shocked, dazed, and Bucky was shrinking away from him, staring, wary and confused.

“You never told me,” Steve said.

And when Bucky told him why, half-laughing, half-sobbing, it was because he had been – as always – watching Steve’s back, no matter how much it hurt him, never knowing Steve felt exactly the same way as he did.

Steve caught Bucky’s tears in his palm, and his own voice shattered. “You jerk,” he choked out, and pulled Bucky’s lips back to his.


	24. Chapter 24

Bucky was kissing him and he was kissing Bucky, and it felt right. They were wrapped up in each other, and Bucky's mouth was open and wet and willing. Not controlled. Not subdued. Not ordered.

Still, Bucky drew back, confused. Just as Steve had been, he realised. Both of them had danced so carefully around the issue that neither of them had even bothered to ask the other, because they were goddamned idiots, trying too hard to keep each other safe.

“You like dames.” Bucky’s voice wasn’t entirely his own when he added, “Data indicated a preference for women.”

Steve’s fingers were in Bucky’s hair, and he wanted to laugh, helplessly. “Some women, yeah,” he agreed, “but that’s only part of me.” He curled his fingers and dragged his nails down Bucky’s scalp, and felt Bucky shiver. “You gonna believe books written by idiots? Or you gonna believe me?”

Bucky’s eyes opened, staring at him, scrutinising him. “You’re not lying,” he whispered. He sounded surprised and dazed. 

Steve’s mouth turned up. “I know.”

Then they were kissing again. Hands were on his back, and they were sprawled out on the bed together, like they always should have been. Steve wasn't sure where his shirt had gone, and he didn't really care. They were both panting, and trembling, grinding against each other like a pair of horny teenagers behind the Nickelodeon.  
It had been a long time since Steve kissed anyone, least of all someone he cared so much about. More so, because it was Bucky.

"Steve…" Bucky suddenly gasped out, jerking back. "Steve, no… no, not yet… listen…”

Steve flinched back at once. Maybe it was control. Maybe the strangeness of kissing his friend was enough to make Bucky remember himself better. 

"Okay, Buck. Okay," he said hoarsely, hand braced beside Bucky's head on the bed. Even if it was only one kiss, it was enough. He could live with that. “Whatever you need.”

Metal fingertips brushed Steve’s cheek, light as a feather. "They sent me to you," Bucky whispered, his voice ragged. “They’re watching. They want you distracted. They need you distracted.”

Stellar job, Steve thought. His fingers were still in Bucky's hair, and it was softer than he'd expected. He forced his attention back to the problem at hand: someone had sent Bucky to distract him. He had to focus on that. The people who had taken Bucky, changed his mind, sent him as a honey-trap.

People who were watching them now. People who were listening.

He lowered his head, bringing his face closer, keeping their words just between them. "Who are they, Buck?" His lips were so close, the whisper was tangible.

He could feel Bucky clutching at him. It wasn't the desperate urgency of his scrabbling fingers when he had kissed Steve. It was something else. Bucky was afraid. He was shivering and he was terrified and he was holding onto Steve like he might be stolen away. His pupils were jet pools. 

"HYDRA," he whispered.


	25. Chapter 25

If Bucky had punched him in the face, he couldn't have shocked him more.

HYDRA.

He wanted to protest that HYDRA died with the Red Skull, but Bucky was here, and Bucky was evidence of something vast and corrupt. If he said it was HYDRA, if he trembled because he believed it, then Steve knew it either had to be true or it was what Bucky had been told.

They were in an apartment provided by Bucky's handlers. There were eyes and ears on them.

"We should get some air," Steve said, helping Bucky to sit up. They needed to be somewhere they couldn't be watched so easily. He went to the closet, fetching the clothes that looked more like Bucky's style. "Want to go for a ride?"

Bucky's hands were trembling fists in his lap. "Sure," he said. 

Steve saw him look down at his left arm. He wanted to ask what had happened, where it had come from, but it could wait. There were more important things, like getting Buck somewhere safe and quiet, where he didn't need to be afraid. 

He came back across the floor and crouched down to help Bucky into the shirt. He peeled away the scraps of false skin. The whole limb, from shoulder to fingertips, was metal. The scar tissue where it connected to skin was dark and thick, and Steve had to look away, fighting down rage at whoever had done it.

"Okay?" he said softly, once Bucky was dressed.

Bucky was twisting the buttons through the button holes. "Yeah," he said.

They headed out into the day, the air cool and damp. Steve's bike was at the front door, and when Bucky slipped on behind him, it was almost like the old days. Steve covered Bucky's hands at his waist for a moment before kicking the engine to life.

He drove them to a park, somewhere that would be difficult to monitor, and they walked along the deserted pathways. When he put his arm around Bucky's waist, he knew it wasn't just out of physical support: Bucky was back with him, and if he could, he knew he would have held on and never let him go. 

He listened, as Bucky spoke in fits and starts. Whatever they had done to him, they wanted him controlled and quiet. His words sounded like they were being forced out, and the harder he had to try, the tighter Steve held him.

It was HYDRA. HYDRA were within SHIELD. Everything they had both fought and almost died for had been growing and corrupting everything that came after them. And Bucky had been used by them, and couldn't even remember what they had made him do.

Steve wanted to kill them all.

He had to beat down the anger.

It could be used, later. Right now, Bucky needed him to be there and steady for him. 

"Come on," he murmured, leading Bucky back in the direction of the bike. "Let's get you somewhere safe."


	26. Chapter 26

The motel he found wasn't much, but it was out of the way and quiet, which was what Bucky needed.

He wished he could stay, but SHIELD was compromised. There were people who needed to know. Bucky promised to stay put and wait for him, and he promised to return. That was all they could afford right now.

Steve knelt by the bed, kissing Bucky once, then again, a wordless assurance.

He'd let him go once. He promised he wouldn't do it again.

HYDRA made a liar of him. 

Less than three hours later, he was spattered in blood, and the one man he'd come close to trusting was dying at his feet, ice-cold fingers forcing a memory drive into Steve's hand. Fury had known SHIELD was compromised, before Steve spoke. That was why he was shot. 

An agent - formerly a neighbour - was there, armed, calling for aid, and Steve saw a glimpse of the shooter across the street, and went after him. 

They were on the other building, high up. Whoever it was, they were a skilled sniper. Steve didn't know how they knew Fury would be at his apartment. He hadn't even known it, but the assassin was there, and Fury was bleeding out on the floor of Steve’s apartment.

The shooter didn't expect to be chased, but when Steve went after him, he ran. He was inhumanly fast, and Steve was rattled. No one was meant to be that fast. The only person who'd come close was Red Skull, and he was dead. 

On the rooftop, he caught up with the man, and he felt like someone had struck him with a wrecking ball. The black clothing could have been anyone, but light caught on the metal left arm. 

"Bucky!" he called out, hoping to god he was wrong. 

On the lip of the roof, the man swung around, raising a gun in his right hand. Steve snapped up the shield, and the bullets rebounded off it.

Steve lowered the shield, staring at Bucky. The man met his eyes, then recoiled. It was Bucky, but his features looked different. He looked harder and sharper, but his brows pulled together the way Bucky's always did when he was confused. 

"Who the hell is Bucky?" he demanded, taking a step towards Steve, staring at him as if he didn't know him.

Again.

They had taken Bucky and stripped him away again.

Steve's words failed him. He took a step forward, his legs shaking. "Buck..." he said, reaching out, "It's me. It's Steve."

Bucky - the stranger wearing his face - flinched, his left hand moving to his head, as if he was in pain. He staggered back, then spun and leapt off the roof. Steve ran to follow, but by the time he got to the edge of the roof, Bucky was gone, vanished into the shadows. 

Jonny Smith was bad enough, similar but not the same, but the Bucky he'd just seen was something else entirely: he was a killer.


	27. Chapter 27

Fury was dead.

Steve wished he could care, but he was sitting in the corridor, blood on his skin, shield in his hands, and all he could think about was the look on Bucky's face. He'd barely got him back, and they'd torn him away again, broken him, and turned him into something else.

He wanted to go out, find him, but he didn't know where to start.

"Rogers."

He raised his eyes. Hill was standing in front of him. SHIELD agent. That meant nothing now. He didn't know who he could trust anymore. Fury’s last words. Trust no-one.

"You got anything you can tell us?" she said.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion as he shook his head. Bucky wasn't a killer, but he'd killed Fury. If they knew who he was, if they knew his face, they would be able to find him. They wouldn't ask questions. They would take him out as an enemy.

"He was too fast," he said, lowering his eyes to his shield. He could see the scratches to the paint where the bullets had almost hit him.

Bucky would never have harmed him. When he'd fired, it was before he saw Steve's face.

Whatever they had done to him, something in Bucky still recognised him, just like he had when he was behind the facade of Jonny.

Hill pressed one hand briefly to his shoulder, moved away.

The click of heels on tiles told him Natasha was nearby.

She could read him like a book, and of all the people he had left around him, she was the one who'd helped when it came to Bucky. It was true she could have been involved, from the other side, but he didn't think so.

"You saw him," she said quietly, sitting down beside him. "The one who did this."

He nodded. You heard the ballistics," he murmured. "You know who it was."

She was silent for a long while. "The Winter Soldier," she murmured. "He's been credited with over a dozen assassinations in the last fifty years. Same ballistics."

The Winter Soldier.

That was the name Bucky had told him.

Steve got to his feet, turning helplessly on the spot. He didn't know what he was meant to do. Bad enough to find out Bucky was an assassin once, but they had been using him like that for so long?

"Fifty years?" he echoed. 

Natasha looked up at him. "Most intelligence services consider him a ghost story to scare the newbies," she said. She drew up the hem of her shirt, revealing a scar on her midriff. "Ghosts don't make you bleed."

Steve had to turn away.

The chair creaked as Natasha sat up. "What was Fury doing at your apartment anyway?" she asked.

Steve could feel the weight of the memory stick in his pocket and remembered the blank look in Bucky's eyes: HYDRA's oldest weapon, whose life would be forfeit if anyone found out. "I don't know," he lied.


	28. Chapter 28

If there was any question of corruption within the heart of SHIELD, it was answered only a couple of hours later, when he was summoned back to SHIELD headquarters. 

Alexander Pierce, the Secretary of the World Security Council, asked all the right questions in all the right tones, and Steve could only watch and listen as he methodically blackened Fury’s name before the man was even in the ground. 

Strings were being pulled, and Steve was damned sure they weren’t going to pull his anymore.

It was a mistake to be so blunt in his dismissal of Pierce’s claims. He came under attack the moment he left Pierce’s office. It was sloppy, only a dozen men in an enclosed space. They thought they could pin him, but Steve knew that even if you trusted your allies, it was always better to have a trick or ten up your sleeve. 

They’d joked about that, years ago, him and Buck. 

“What would you do,” Bucky said, “if I came after you?” 

Steve had laughed dismissively. “I know all your weaknesses, Barnes,” he’d said. “I’d go for the ribs. You’d be crying uncle in less than five seconds flat.”

It didn’t seem so funny anymore.

Natasha found him. Turned out his uniform wasn’t all his anymore. A tracker was leading his enemies right to him. She made him strip off in the back of the pick-up she’d stolen, and made him toss it as they crossed the river. He watched it catch in the eddies, swept away downstream.

“You going to tell me what you’re hiding now?” she asked, eyes on the road.

As he pulled on the change of clothes she’d brought for him, he looked at her reflection in the rear view mirror. She’d saved his ass. She’d helped him with Bucky. And it wasn’t like he had any other options, in a world that was still too new for his liking. 

He held up the memory drive, the very one she had used on the Lumerian Star, back before things got complicated.

“Remember this?”

Her eyes widened. “Where did you get it?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “What’s on it?”

Her eyes returned to the road, and he could see the tension in her face. “Fury gave it to you.”

“I asked a question, Nat.”

“I don’t know,” she replied sharply. “I just collect the data. I don’t always know what it is.”

Steve leaned against the back of the passenger seat, exhausted. It had to be important for Fury to give it to him, and if anyone should have known what it was, it was Natasha. 

“We can find out,” she said quietly. “At least, I can try and hack it.” She was looking at him in the rear view mirror. “We need to know what’s on it. They killed him because of it. We have to know why.”

He nodded. “We do,” he agreed. “But before we go looking, there’s something you need to know. It’s about Bucky.”


	29. Chapter 29

She took the news placidly. He knew that expression. It meant nothing. He used the same one when people looked at Captain America: smooth on the surface, simmering beneath.

The drive was their focus, she said. Barnes could wait. 

The drive was encrypted, but the signal led them away from the city. 

Whoever had sent the data was based at a place Steve had long-since left behind: Camp Lehigh. 

Walking between the barracks felt like stepping back in time. Some of it was the same, but other parts, including a new munitions vault, felt off. He said so to Natasha, and when they looked closer, they found the place where SHIELD was born.

Flickering electric lamps illuminated the ranks of dust-thick desks and half-faded photographs visible on the walls. Steve saw Peggy in the faces there. This was her creation, and HYDRA had taken it and profaned it.

“Rogers,” Natasha murmured, holding up one hand.

The door was creaking open. Someone was there.

She nodded left, and took right herself, fading into the shadows of the main hall. He shifted the shield on his arm, moving into the darkness, as a figure stepped down into the bunker. The light from behind gleamed on a metal arm.

Before he had time to think, in a split-second of sound and violence, Bucky dived, and a gunshot split the air. Natasha descended on Bucky from the shadows like the wrath of the gods, snarling in Russian.

Steve didn’t hesitate. He hurled his shield. It caught her second shot, as he sprinted across the room, jerking her hand up. “Enough!”

He couldn’t help staring down at Bucky. For all he knew, Bucky was targeting him now. He was still in the black clothing. By the faint light, his hands were brown with dry blood. He looked disorientated, as he pushed himself up on his elbows. 

“Steve…” he said, and he looked so lost that Steve wanted to scream.

“I told you to stay at the hotel, Buck,” he said, his voice flat.

Bucky shivered as he tried to explain. It made no sense: a vault and people and pain. He had been taken by force, that much Steve could tell, and even speaking was an effort. He was breaking apart, fingers pressing to his temples.

Natasha was staring at him. “Rogers,” she warned, as Steve released her wrist.

Steve ignored her to kneel and catch Bucky’s wrists. “Bucky,” he said softly, trying to gather him up. “Look at me.”

Bucky’s face was tight, his lips trembling. “I killed them,” he whispered like a child. “In the vault. I think I killed them to stop them hurting me.”

Steve wrapped a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, holding him, soothing him. It quickly became clear Bucky didn’t know what he’d done. He didn’t know where the blood came from. He didn’t know anything. He was scared and lost and only knew he had to be beside Steve.

Steve wanted to kill someone for it.


	30. Chapter 30

Steve was too tired and angry for mercy. When Natasha spoke against Bucky, he turned her past and her anger back on her. How was helping Bucky any different from what Barton and Fury had done for her? 

She recoiled as if he'd slapped her, but he knew he'd made his point.

He helped Bucky up. There was fresh blood on his skin. Natasha's bullet had torn a furrow in his side. Bucky looked at it with indifference. "Minor flesh wound," he said, as if he couldn't feel it. "Healing time: approximately two days."

"Jesus," Steve said, sickened. "What the hell did they do to you?"

Bucky's glassy eyes blinked. "Irrelevant," he said.

Steve felt ill, but they didn't have time to dwell on it, less now that HYDRA's favourite weapon was in their company. Natasha managed to remove Bucky's tracker, touching him as if he was toxic, then stalked off deeper into the base.

Bucky trailed after Steve. He didn't make a sound. It was unsettling, like being followed by a shadow. Steve had to turn and glance back to make sure he was still there. 

Occasionally, he reached out, touching Bucky, just to make sure Bucky was still with them. Every time he did, Bucky tilted his head, looking at him with a blankness that made his fists clench. Jonny Smith would have been better. At least Jonny Smith smiled. This Bucky was hollowed out, empty. They hadn't even given him an identity. 

They moved on through the base. It was huge and they found an elevator hidden in the walls. It sank into the lower levels, and opened into a room filled with whirring machinery.

Behind him, Steve heard Bucky stumble. When he spoke, he sounded uneasy. "We should go."

"Hold on," Steve said as Natasha put the memory drive into the machine. 

He wished he'd listened when a voice broke from the speakers, a familiar voice. Zola. Schmidt's doctor. Steve remembered a vault, machinery, blood, and Bucky, strapped down, broken. 1943. The year Bucky had come back different.

Bucky was on his knees, retching. Steve was by his side in a heartbeat, his arm over Bucky's shoulders. "What did you do?" he snarled.

"Do?" Zola laughed. “I improved him, Captain. You just… delayed the result when you destroyed our facility, but my friends finished what I began. My magnum opus.”

Bucky wasn't blank anymore. He was choking on sobs, rocking on his knees, his hands over his head. And Steve realised with horror that he was whispering his name and number, just as he had been back then. 

Steve pressed his hand to the back of Bucky's neck, speaking his name gently.

Bucky looked up at him. His lips trembled. He smiled the same confused, scared smile of recognition. "Steve?"

"Yeah," Steve said, trying to return the smile. He wanted to burn the place, but Bucky had to be his priority. "I'm here again." Zola won last time. Not this time. Not ever again. "Still here."


	31. Chapter 31

It was a trap.

They realised too late. 

Zola was teasing them with information. Steve was starting to put together what was going on: the Insight helicarriers were not there to protect. 

On top of that, Zola's taunting roused Bucky more than anything Steve could have said, and Bucky threw himself at the computer, smashing it with his bare hands, screaming and cursing. Steve dragged him back, swearing and bleeding, as the doors slammed closed. Fish in a barrel. Natasha called out a warning about an incoming bogey.

Steve and Bucky exchanged looks and moved as one, tearing up the grid of the floor. Natasha was in the hole first, and Bucky shoved Steve in, covering them both with his own body. All Steve could do was wrap the shield over them all and hope it was enough.

In the quiet and the dark after the walls came crashing down, Steve could hear Bucky's pained, rasping breaths. He'd taken the weight of the rubble above the shield. He was hurting, but he was alive. 

They dragged themselves out, out of the ruins, out of the camp. There was nothing left. Even their stolen truck was gone, and the aerial assault swung around for another attack.

Hidden in the woods, Steve watched as the plane swept in. He glanced at Bucky, who looked back at him, a small, almost genuine smile crossing his bloody lips. "Like old times," he rasped. 

Steve couldn't help laughing faintly. "You're not wrong."

They headed back in the direction of civilisation. Both of them were bloody and limping and they took turns carrying Natasha until she came round. In the early dawn light, they took a car from a driveway and turned back in the direction of the city.

As they drove, Steve explained what he knew. In the back seat, Bucky was patching his wounds without a word. He was in a bad way, but he hadn't made a sound of complaint. He needed to rest. They all did. They needed somewhere to lie low.

"I know someone who might help us," Steve said finally, even though he hated the idea of imposing on Sam. "Wilson."

Natasha nodded, recognising the name.

"Wilson?" Bucky asked, leaning against Steve's seat.

Steve glanced at the rearview mirror. Bucky was ashen, his eyes shadowed. "A friend," he said, wondering what Sam would make of Bucky in person. “You lie back and get some rest, okay, Buck? You’re safe here. We’ll wake you when we get there.”

Bucky obeyed without question, curling down on his side. Steve saw Natasha twist in the seat to study him. Her lips pressed together in a tight line, and she looked back at Steve. 

"He's dangerous," she said quietly.

"We all are," Steve said, his eyes on the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

She wrapped her arms around her legs. "You can't know you can save him."

He looked at her. "And you can't expect me not to try," he said.


	32. Chapter 32

If Sam was surprised when they turned up at his door, he didn't act it. He ushered them into his apartment, pointing out the bathroom to Natasha. Steve saw the way Bucky collapsed down into the nearest chair. It was a miracle he was still standing.

"That him?" Sam murmured.

Steve nodded. By the light of day, Bucky looked worse than before. His black clothing and his hands were matted with dry blood, not all his own. His blood-shot eyes, ringed with shadows, were half-closed. There were marks at his temples that Steve hadn't noticed either. Perfect circles scorched into his skin. 

"He's not in a good way," he murmured. "Whoever had him has been wiping his memories. He's..." He didn't know how to explain. "I... he killed people, but he doesn't remember."

"Stable now?" Sam asked quietly.

Steve couldn't answer. He shook his head, shrugging helplessly. "He knows me," he said. It wasn't much, but it was something, and it was all they both had. He and Sam both looked over at Bucky, slumped in the chair. 

“You go,” Sam said, patting Steve on the shoulder. He met his eyes, nodding reassuringly. “Get cleaned up. I’ll get some food into Barnes.”

Steve couldn't help noticing the way Bucky straightened up as he headed for the door. Maybe he was afraid of being left behind again, but he didn't say anything. 

In the hall outside the living room, Steve had to stop, just for a second, bracing his hand against the wall. He was so damned tired, but there was no room to break now. 

Natasha was sitting on the end of Sam's bed, towelling her hair when he entered. She looked as shattered as he felt. No wonder. They both believed they were fighting the good fight. Turned out they were wrong.

She watched him carefully as he cleaned Bucky's blood from his hands and the dirt from his skin. 

"You okay?" she asked. 

He couldn't lie. Not to her. She could always tell. "No," he said, watching the blood and dirt circling down the plughole. "I should have gone back when he fell."

"You couldn't have known, Steve," she murmured. "None of this is any of our fault."

He looked over at her. "What about you?" he asked.

She lowered her eyes, smiling briefly. "Thought I was going straight," she murmured. "Guess I just traded the KGB for HYDRA." She raised her eyes to him. "Hell of a time to be alive, huh, Rogers? The dead rising all over the place."

He ran a hand over his face. "Yeah," he said. Exhaustion hung heavily on his shoulders. "At least we know our enemy now."

Her eyes flicked towards the door. He knew what she wanted to say. Instead, she sighed. "He got out of the red room once," she said. "Maybe he can again."

"Red room?"

She got up from the bed, avoiding his eyes. "Whatever you imagined happened to him," she said, "the Red Room is worse."


	33. Chapter 33

When they returned to the other room, Bucky took over the cooking from Sam, staring at the skillet intently. Natasha sat down as far from him as she could get, watching him suspiciously. 

"Is he..." Steve began, uncertain.

"Occupational therapy," Sam replied, pouring the coffee. He nodded to the spread of food. "You guys should eat."

Steve was halfway through scrambled eggs when Bucky approached warily, pan in one hand, spatula in the other. "You okay, Buck?" he asked.

Bucky tipped an egg out onto Steve’s plate. “This one’s yours,” he said. “The way you like it.”

Steve looked at the egg. A hell of a long time ago, before the depression and the war, when they could get eggs, he'd found out how he liked his eggs. 

Bucky remembered. 

If he could remember that, he could remember more. 

Steve rose, hugging him.

Bucky was tense in his embrace. "It's just an egg, ya punk," he muttered.

"Shut up, you jerk," Steve breathed against his ear. Bucky shivered. Steve drew back, searching his face. He saw a tear break from one eye, rolling down Bucky’s cheek. "Hey," Steve said softly.

Bucky's lips trembled, trying to smile. "Hey yourself," he said, voice fragile. He flinched back when he noticed the others. "I'll make more eggs."

Steve nodded, sitting back down. He glanced at Sam, who gave him a thumbs-up. "We need to plan."

It wasn't the kind of conversation anyone wanted to have, but it was necessary. They sketched out and discarded idea after idea, until the creak of metal on metal made Steve turn. The skillet handle was bent and Bucky wasn't talking like Bucky anymore. He was mechanical, military, the weapon again.

Steve got up at once, touched Bucky's shoulder. It wasn't enough. Bucky kept speaking in the same, flat voice. 

"Bucky." Steve tightened his grip. "Put down the pan and look at me."

The skillet dropped with a clatter. Steve caught Bucky's pale face between his hands. He was freezing and he clutched at Steve's arms like a safety line. 

“You know we have to finish it, Buck,” Steve said, his brow pressing to Bucky's his eyes holding Bucky’s, keeping him grounded. “The ones who did this to you want to do worse. We have to stop them. We have to take off every one of HYDRA’s heads.”

Bucky stared at him, breathing hard. "Burn them," he growled.

Steve searched his face. "Buck?"

Bucky kneaded at his arms. "Burn them," he gritted out, teeth clenched. Steve remembered suddenly: a story Bucky told him when they were kids, of heroes and gods and monsters. 

He wrapped his hand around the back of Bucky's neck. "You making me Hercules this time around?"

Bucky's face broke into a smile. He remembered too. "Turn about, huh, Rogers?" he whispered. “Guess that makes me your Iolaus, since you’re all god-like strength and shit.”

There were tears on their cheeks, but that didn't matter. Bucky was there and he remembered, and it was enough.


	34. Chapter 34

They had a plan.

It wasn’t much, but it was the best they could do. To Steve’s chagrin, Sam was picking up arms again. Bucky too. He’d never wanted to drag either of them back into a combat situation, but Sam volunteered, and when Steve even tried to make noises about Bucky sitting the fight out, Bucky went stiff and tense.

He turned from the dishes he was drying, and looked Steve full in the face. “When you left me in the hotel, they found me,” he said. “They made me kill your friend. Who’s to say they won’t find me again? Who’s to say they won’t send me after you?”

It was said calmly, but Steve could see the fear in Bucky’s face, and he knew Bucky was right. Bucky was never meant to be a soldier, and now, HYDRA had made it all he knew. Right now, he lived by orders.

Steve brought their foreheads together, holding Bucky there. “Okay,” he said, fighting to keep his voice even. “Okay. You come with us. You watch my back. That’s your mission. You hear me, soldier?”

The relief that spread across Bucky’s face was heartbreaking. “Thank you.”

Steve hated the thought of sending Bucky back into the field, but they had no other choice. He pulled Bucky into a hug, held him tightly. “I got you, Buck,” he whispered. “I got you and I’m not letting you go this time.”

Bucky was the one to step back, scrubbing at his cheeks with a shaking hand. “Orders, Cap?”

For all that it was a straightforward plan, it was also pretty crazy. Steve laid it out, looking askance at Bucky. They needed him to play the weapon that HYDRA knew. He hated doing it. He hated asking. 

It only got worse when Bucky said quietly, "If I do slip, I need to know you won't hold back. Take me down. Temporary or permanent or whatever you need to do to ensure your safety." 

Steve stared at him. “Buck…”

Bucky’s voice broke. “Steve, promise me,” he whispered. "If it's my life or yours, you know I don't want to live knowing I killed you."

Steve couldn’t speak. The idea of being the one to put a bullet in Bucky’s head, was too vast and too terrible to think about. “And what about me killing you?” he finally managed to ask, voice unsteady. “Buck, don’t ask me to do that.”

Sam took Natasha, slipping away. Steve knew why. This was between him and Bucky.

They stood silently, side by side, staring into nothing.

“So what do we do?” he finally asked.

Bucky shrugged, his arm rubbing against Steve’s. “Checkmate. Neither or both.”

Steve nodded unhappily, leaning sideways until they were shoulder to shoulder. “This is bullshit,” he said. “Everything about it.”

It wasn’t simple. It couldn’t be. He knew he could never kill Bucky. The best he could do was promise to stop him hurting anyone else. That was a promise he could keep.


	35. Chapter 35

Sitwell’s abduction went smoothly. They plucked him off the street, and the second he saw Bucky, he pissed his pants and started babbling in terror. 

He knew who Bucky was, Steve realised, and more than that, he knew what Bucky had done. He knew more than Steve and Bucky put together, and he knew Pierce was the one in charge, manipulating everything, pulling the puppet’s strings. Bucky – snarling – knew it too and when he almost crushed Sitwell’s throat, Steve wanted to let him.

He wouldn’t, though. Bucky wasn’t a killer. Steve snapped his name, caught him by the scruff of the neck, jerked him back to himself.

“He knew,” Bucky whispered, and Steve shared that anger. “Steve, he knew.”

He wanted to say something, be comforting, supportive, but they were rammed from behind, and Bucky’s arms were around him and his seat, and the car was spinning. They were under attack, outnumbered, surrounded. Sam and Natasha took one side, Steve and Bucky the other.

That was the first time he saw just what Bucky was capable of. 

Back in the day, Bucky was a scout and sniper. He stayed high and took the shots.

Now, he was a weapon. He took out assailants with a speed that outdid Steve, firing blind, using the shield when Steve threw it his way. He moved fast, rolling and jumping, dodging their enemies so smoothly it seemed supernatural. 

It was like a beautiful nightmare: the perfect warrior.

Right up until he took out an armoured truck, and people started screaming. Steve – from the corner of his eye – saw Bucky freeze up, and that was when HYDRA took him down. They hit him with electricity. As soon as he was on the ground, they were on him, tearing into him like jackals on bones.

“Bucky!” Steve slammed through another cluster.

There was a cry from above and he saw Natasha half-flung over the overpass, blood streaming from her shoulder.

“Back up, Cap!” Rumlow was there. He was holding Bucky – unconscious – by the throat, a gun at his head. “You want him dead, you keep fighting.”

He didn’t even think about it. He just dropped his shield, raised his hands, and the gunfire faded away to nothing. Sam came into land close by. Natasha was dragged down too. Steve didn’t care. His eyes were on Bucky. He wasn’t moving. He didn’t even look like he was breathing. 

It wasn’t until they were all strapped down and locked up in the back of an armoured truck that he was close enough to see the blood frothing at the corner of Bucky’s mouth with every breath. His face was a mask of blood, his head slumped forward.

“Buck,” Steve whispered. “Buck, wake up, pal.”

There was no response. 

“He’s alive, Cap,” Sam said quietly. “We all are.”

Steve nodded, unable to take his eyes off Bucky. He hadn’t been able to protect him, again, and now, he was hurt and chained down and HYDRA had their weapon back.


	36. Chapter 36

None of them anticipated a rescue.

Hell, no one knew where they were, let alone what was going on.

Except, it turned out, Maria Hill. 

Disguised as one of the guards, she busted them out of the truck. To Steve’s relief, she didn’t try to harm Bucky, even though she probably knew the part he played in Fury’s death. She had another truck waiting, piled them in it, and took off in the opposite direction.

Steve wasn’t paying much attention. His focus was on Bucky. He was unconscious again, his head on Steve’s thigh. The blood was dry on his face, his features were tight with pain. Steve held him steady as the truck raced out of the city, taking them somewhere Hill said was safe.

By the time the truck stopped at an abandoned dam, Bucky was conscious, and stubbornly keeping to his feet. Steve helped Natasha instead, nodding to Sam, who moved beside Bucky as they headed inside.

There was a doctor, Hill said, but when the man rushed to help, Steve saw the way she looked at Bucky. “They’ll need to see him first,” she said.

Steve felt a chill down his spine. “Him?” he asked.

Hill didn’t reply, leading them further in. There was a curtained-off bed and Steve wasn’t entirely surprised when the curtains were pulled aside revealing Director Fury. 

A crash from behind made Steve whip around. Sam was on the ground and Bucky looked like he was fighting a losing battle for control of his body. 

“Shit!” he choked out. “Steve!”

Steve let go of Natasha, rushing at Bucky, grabbing his arms. “Buck!” 

Bucky was strong. Crazy strong. He fought against Steve’s grip, even as Steve pushed him down onto his knees.

“I have a mission!” Bucky sobbed, his body pushing back against Steve’s. “I…”

Steve’s shoulders were shaking with effort. “You’re not the weapon,” he snarled. He was on his knees too, holding him, pinning him. Christ, he was strong, and it was a fight to keep him down. A fight to save him. “You are James Buchanan Barnes. You’re not a weapon, Bucky. You’re my friend and you can fight this!”

Bucky’s voice was choked. “Not strong enough!”

Steve could feel the heat of Bucky’s breath on his skin, their faces so close, he could see every bead of sweat on Bucky’s brow. “Yes, you are,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Buck, you always had my back. Even after everything. Only guy tough enough. All the time. You can do this.”

“I can’t.” Bucky was crying, his face twisted up. “I’m sorry.”

Steve stared at him. He thought he was only a weapon now. He really thought he could only be that and nothing more. God, he was a fucking moron, and Steve loved him too much to let him die for it.

He slammed his mouth down on Bucky’s, and kissed him, desperate, urgent, with every damn bit of the love he had carried with him since he was fifteen.


	37. Chapter 37

It worked.

Bucky kissed him back just as desperately. He wasn’t fighting anymore, and Steve released his arms to sink one hand into Bucky’s hair, dragging him closer. He felt Bucky’s arms around him, felt the shirt ripping across his back, felt Bucky’s breaths – ragged and panting – on his lips. 

He drew back, finally, short of breath. Bucky was staring at him, dazed, flushed, and blinking. Steve smiled shakily. “Hey Buck,” he panted, “welcome back.”

He didn’t know how long they just knelt like that, Buck’s arms around him, his head rocking forward to press their foreheads together again. He rubbed Bucky’s neck, and they were still staring at each other like there was no one else there.

There were others, of course, and Steve didn’t have to look to know what they would be doing.

“Stand down, guys,” he murmured, still stroking his hand gently up and down Bucky’s neck.

“Cap,” Hill said from behind him, “you sure?”

Steve slipped his hand round from Bucky’s neck to cup his flushed cheek. “Yeah.”

Bucky’s face lost some of its colour. “Steve, you can’t know…”

“I’m sure,” Steve said at once, firmly enough that he knew Bucky wouldn’t argue. He caught Bucky gently under both elbows, helping him back to his feet. He nodded to Bucky, trying to reassure him. “We’re good here.”

Bucky looked around wildly, eyes wide. It wasn’t with the focus of the soldier anymore. It was his friend, who was out of his element and surrounded by people who could be enemies.

Behind him, Steve heard Fury speak, “You must be Barnes.”

Bucky’s tongue darted along his lower lip. He was ashen, and Steve could feel the way he was swaying. “Director Fury,” he said. He looked uncertain, but added carefully, “Sorry. About the assassination attempt.”

Steve wanted to laugh, despite everything else that was going on. Of course Bucky would apologise. 

“Yeah,” Fury said. His words were slow with pain. “Last I heard, the Winter Soldier didn’t miss.” Steve looked at him, then at Bucky, in surprise. “Guess you were having a bad day.”

Bucky was staring at the man too. Looked like neither of them had thought about that point before. “Yeah,” Bucky said, dazed. “Could say that.” A shiver shot through him, and he looked back at Steve, skittish. He stared at Steve for a moment too long, like he was seeing something new, and licked at his lower lip. “I need some air,” he said, “and you need to work.”

Steve nodded reluctantly. No wonder, really. Less than two minutes before, every other person in the room bar Sam had a gun trained on them both. “Sam?” he said, turning to find his friend. “Can you take Bucky out for some air?”

Sam was by their side in a moment. He slipped his shoulder under Bucky’s arm to help him stay upright. Steve could see the way Bucky leaned into him. Trusted him to support him. That was good. It was a start.


	38. Chapter 38

As soon as Bucky was out of sight, Steve turned back to the others.

“Something you want to tell us, Cap?” Fury said dryly.

Steve met his eyes. “I don’t know, Nick,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “Is this is a about you faking your death?”

Fury inclined his head in agreement. “Fair point,” he said. 

There were explanations to be made. They moved to a table, where files were spread all over, and Fury told them what he knew. 

Steve remained standing. He understood the need for the deception, but the lack of trust rankled him. Natasha’s expression was unreadable, as the doctor patched her shoulder. Steve knew what it meant: beneath the surface, she wasn’t happy.

Turned out Fury knew everything about Project Insight. He even knew about Zola’s algorithm, and had a plan to deal with it. It was a good plan.

There was only one problem.

“We’re not going to save it,” Steve snapped. “SHIELD is finished, Nick.”

It wasn’t the case of drawing out poison. It was deep-rooted rot. Bucky was right. They had to burn every bit of it, even if it meant destroying SHIELD. 

Footfalls from behind him told him Bucky was returning. If Nick thought that would distract him, he was mistaken. Sam and Bucky added weight to Steve’s cause. Reluctantly, Fury assented. The next morning, they would attack. HYDRA would burn.

It was that simple.

Steve turned his focus back to Bucky. 

For their plan to work, they needed him operational. He got Hill to take them down to the bunks, and set Bucky down. Hill offered a doctor, but Steve saw the way Bucky flinched.

“No,” he said. “I’ll take care of him.”

He wasn’t surprised that Hill hung around, watching Bucky suspiciously. Even when Bucky told her she could trust Steve’s judgement, she looked right at Steve. “Don’t let your emotions get the better of you,” she said. “If he becomes a liability…”

Steve stepped between her and Bucky. He was tired of being expected to trust people who hadn’t trusted him. Now, of all the people in the base, he trusted Bucky more than anyone. Bucky had fought his way back further than anyone, and he wasn’t about to let them dismiss that struggle.

“Send Sam down, Hill,” he said tersely, hands in fists.

She left, but she wasn’t happy.

“Steve,” Bucky murmured. “You know why she’s on edge. They saw me. They know what I did.”

Steve knelt down in front of him, to strip off the bloody clothes. “That wasn’t you.”

Fingertips brushed his cheek. “Yeah,” Bucky said, “it was.” His lips twitched sadly. “But I’m working on it.”

Steve covered Bucky’s hand on his cheek. “I got you, Buck,” he whispered. “You know that, right?” Bucky nodded, trying to smile. Steve squeezed his hand. “We’ll get through this. We got this far.”

Bucky leaned forward, wincing, and knocked his brow against Steve’s. His whisper was so quiet, it was almost inaudible. “Punk.”


	39. Chapter 39

They squeezed onto a single bunk. There were two, but neither of them thought of sleeping alone. Bucky slept, only roused by nightmares.

Steve didn’t sleep. Thoughts were churning around in his head. 

A little before dawn, an idea came to him and he got up.

“I need to go collect some weapons for today,” he said. Bucky started to rise, but Steve pushed him back. “You stay here. Get some rest.”

Bucky looked panicked. “You need to be here.”

Steve combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, tilting his head up. “No, I don’t,” he said.

Bucky’s fingers wrapped around his arm. “Lock me in.”

Steve flinched. “Buck…”

“Steve, please,” Bucky pleaded. “You might trust me, but I don’t and they don’t, and I… don’t make me wake up covered in blood again.”

Bile burned in Steve’s throat. He bent over Bucky, cradling Bucky’s head in his hands. “I’m going to kill them,” he promised. “Anyone who had any part in doing this to you, I’m going to find them and I’m going to make them suffer.”

“No,” Bucky said, his hands curling around Steve’s wrists. “You’re not.”

“I…”

“You’re not,” Bucky said grimly, “because I have more than enough blood on my hands already. A little more won’t make any difference now.”

Steve gazed at him. “I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree,” he said, then kissed his brow, avoiding the healing wounds. “I’ll lock you in this time, but next time, the door stays open. You’re free now.”

One side of Bucky’s mouth turned up. “Yes, Cap.”

Steve tried to smile. He didn’t want to close the door, but he knew Bucky needed it. The metal of the lock grated accusingly.

It wasn’t as if they needed weapons, but what he was aiming for was much more significant. 

He returned a couple of hours later. 

To his relief, Bucky was out of the cell, eating breakfast with Sam. Both men gaped in disbelief when he showed them his loot: his old uniform from the Smithsonian.

“We need a uniform they’re going to recognise,” he explained, “so they know exactly who they’re fighting.”

He hesitated, then tossed the other sack to Bucky. It was either a great or stupid idea, and right now, he wasn’t sure which.

Bucky opened the sack, and seemed to stop breathing. He drew out his old uniform, burying his face in it. Steve knew he’d made the right choice. Bucky touched it, then – when Sam pointed it out to him – ripped off the obsolete left arm. He pulled the jacket on over his vest, baring his metal arm.

Sergeant Bucky Barnes looked up at Steve, a fierce light in his eyes. “They’ll know what it means.”

Steve’s heart was racing wildly. He’d never expected Bucky to look at him like that, in that uniform. “Yeah,” he breathed, leaning closer. “They will.”

Bucky was the one who closed the gap between them, and Sergeant Barnes kissed his Captain for the first time.


	40. Chapter 40

When they headed out to the Triskelion, Steve and Bucky brought up the rear.

No one questioned it. They would have to be blind to ignore the change in Bucky’s body language. He wasn’t moving like the Soldier anymore. Sure, he wasn’t moving like the Bucky Steve had known, but he was finding some middle ground.

He only stopped once, when the Triskelion came into view.

Steve slipped his fingers between Bucky’s, squeezing his hand. “You’re sure you want to do this?” he said. No one would blame him for sitting it out.

Bucky’s eyes were on the building. “You think I can do it,” he said.

“I know you can.” Steve lifted his hand, drawing Bucky’s face back to his, to meet his eyes. “There are good people in there, and I know you’ll protect them.” He smiled. “That’s what you do: protect the little guy.”

Bucky snorted quietly. “Anyone ever tell you you got a sentimental side, Rogers?” 

Steve’s mouth twitched up. “Some jerk from Brooklyn, a coupla times,” he replied, then pulled Bucky closer to kiss him once more. “You go in there,” he said, their noses brushing, “watch their backs, and afterwards, when it’s all over, we’ll talk.”

“Talk?” Bucky echoed sceptically.

Steve wet his lips and glanced down at Bucky’s mouth. They hadn’t discussed it, but god, he wanted to do everything they had never done. “Talk,” he said roughly. He couldn’t help smirking at the thought, “Maybe debrief.”

Bucky snorted again. “Dirty punk.”

That was what Steve knew he’d missed most: the joking and the teasing. It wasn’t the same without it.

He knocked his brow against Bucky’s once more. “Find me when we’re done,” he said, holding his gaze. “That’s an order, soldier.”

Bucky straightened up, Sergeant Barnes reporting for duty. “Yes, Cap.”

They headed down into the Triskelion’s lower bays. Hill had a way in, and to Steve’s amusement, it was as simple as knocking on the door of the communications room. Of course she would know all the weaknesses of the building.

She patched into the mainframe, while Sam herded the prisoners away, and called over to Steve when she was done. “We’re ready, Cap.”

Steve nodded, taking off his mask and looking at the screens. 

To get to the helicarriers, they needed them in the air. To get them there, they needed to bring forward the launch. And to do that, they needed to get HYDRA in the open.

People would die. But if they didn’t, they and thousands more would when the helicarriers got in the air.

If they were going to die, better to do it fighting for the right to live, than waiting to die without ever knowing their enemy. They might not all live, but they definitely wouldn’t all die.

Bucky’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, an anchor. Bucky, who had been walking blind surrounded by enemies for decades. He was the person who knew what it was like.

“It’s time,” he said quietly.


	41. Chapter 41

Battle was easy.

Battle was what he knew. This was where he did what he did best. 

With Sam as his literal wingman, Steve focussed all his attention on the helicarriers. Bucky was inside the building, taking out HYDRA operatives. He knew who a lot of them were, thanks to conditioning and protocols HYDRA had put in place, in case he needed support.

There was some kind of poetic justice, turning HYDRA’s weapons on themselves. Bucky was only phase one. The helicarriers were phase two. 

For all that it was easier than he expected, it was still the fight of his life. It wasn’t easy fighting people when you didn’t know who the bad guys were. Hill kept them updated with what was going on, but it was still difficult.

By the time the first helicarrier was dealt with and the data blade was locked to interfere with the targeting system, Steve was already feeling the burn in his muscles.

Sam was grounded on his way to the second carrier, as Steve headed back onto the command deck. He needed a jet to get down onto the third carrier, and there was no way in hell he could jump it.

“Rogers!” Hill’s voice was sharp in his ear. “You got any motivational speeches left?”

She’d been talking to Bucky, only seconds before, and Steve ducked behind a wall of crates. “Buck?” he panted. “You there?”

Bucky’s voice, when it came, was trembling. “Yeah.” He sounded terrified. “Steve, he’s up there. My… him… the handler.”

Pierce.

Steve ducked and rolled to avoid a barrage of gunfire, catching a live grenade and hurling it back at its owner. “Forget about him,” he said, trying to keep his voice level as he fired another round. “Nat and Nick are dealing with that level.” He leap-frogged over another crate, snapping a man’s neck with a kick. “You just protect the people on the ground.” He was breathing hard as he tumbled across the runway. “Sam. Find Sam. Can you do that, Buck?”

“Sam…” Bucky echoed shakily. “Yeah.”

Steve hurled his shield, ducking down, and catching it when it ricocheted. “You find Sam,” he breathed, moving slowly towards the last knot of men. “Find him. Stop Rumlow. You don’t need to go higher. Deal with him, then head back down.”

“Back down,” Bucky’s voice sounded stronger.

Steve smiled grimly. He would be okay. “Meet me in the courtyard,” he said. He leapt the last stack of crates and crashed down in the middle of the cluster of soldiers. He could hear Bucky panting. Stairs. He was running and fighting as much as Steve. Steve grinned. “You finish up there. I’ll finish here. We’ll meet in the courtyard, okay?”

All he could hear was the rasp of Bucky’s breath, then a whisper, “Steve.”

Staggering, dropping the last soldier, Steve straightened up. “Yeah, Buck?”

There was a moment of silence.

“I love you, ya punk.”

Steve smiled like it was the fourth of July. “You too, jerk.”


	42. Chapter 42

There were SHIELD quinjets in the air all around.

That could have been a good thing, but it was chaos. Some were piloted by HYDRA operatives. Others were SHIELD agents. Some were attacking, some were defending, and Steve was caught up in the middle, trying his best to get down to the last carrier. 

One of those jets had picked Sam out of the air when he was trying his best to dodge rocket fire from below, and heat-seekers from the fighter jets. Steve wasn’t doing much better in one of the larger jets.

He was never cut out to be a pilot. He was a foot-soldier all the way. 

In the end, the best he could do was dodge the worst of the gunfire and ballistics, bringing the quinjet skidding and bouncing to a halt on the runway. There was smoke pluming from the engines as he scrambled out. He winced as it exploded behind him as he ran.

The crew of the last carrier knew he was coming. They must have heard from the first crew as he beat the seven shades of hell out of them, and they were armed with the big guns. Not for the first time, he felt the impact of a missile blast from behind his shield.

It sent him skittering over the side of the helicarrier, scrambling at the sides for purchase, and thankfully, he caught the edge of the grid. The underside of the ship was less defended than the upper deck, but he knew that wouldn’t last long.

Ducking through the doorway and heading down towards the targeting grid, he could hear the yells and cursing from above.

Someone with impatience and no sense at all dropped a grenade straight down the gap down the middle of the staircase. Steve snatched the shield off his arm and swung it upward like a kid trying to toss a pancake. The grenade hit it and catapulted straight back up in the void, exploding in the faces of the descending defenders.

Flame and shards of metal cascaded downwards, and he could hear screaming.

Good, he thought darkly. Enjoy it. 

He swung through a gap in the rails and dropped two levels, catching the railing further down. The targeting grid was up ahead. A quinjet, spiralling out of control, smashed into the underside of the dome, shattering the glass. The impact made him stagger, the blast of cold air and the heat of the flames washing over him.

He ran across the shaking bridge to the grid, lowering it and reaching for the blade.

“Don’t move, Captain!”

He could see the reflection of a man in a black uniform in the polished surface of the targeting grid. He was holding a gun steadily.

A sensible man would have pulled the trigger.

Steve slammed the blade in place and dived sideways as the man fired. 

“Charlie lock!” he yelled as he fell. 

He could see the water far below. 

It was a long way down.


	43. Chapter 43

The impact when he hit the water knocked the breath out of Steve’s body.

He surfaced, gasping, in time to see the canons of the helicarriers turn on each other. The current was wrapping around him, dragging him downstream. He was too exhausted to fight it.

He watched as the carriers burned, decades of HYDRA’s work undone. One of them was ploughing into the side of the building, tearing a furrow across it.

He put his finger to his ear. “Hill,” he croaked into his radio.

There was no response. His earpiece was damaged. His heart thumped against his ribs. He didn’t know where Bucky was. Bucky didn’t know where he was. 

He turned and started swimming back towards land. Every stroke made his arms scream in protest, but he had to get back there. He’d made Bucky a promise, and Bucky needed him to be there, waiting, in the courtyard, when they were both done.

Smoke was pouring from the Triskelion and he could see pieces of the last carrier ripping shreds down it. Fury’s helicopter was circling. At least someone got out alive.

He hadn’t felt so tired since he’d lost his inhaler at the Thanksgiving parade. He shucked the shield off his back. It hardly made any difference, and he swam on.

Had to be an island, he thought bitterly. Couldn’t be a building in the city. Nope. Had to be a big fucking island in the middle of a river.

He finally hit the shallows and staggered towards edge of the courtyard, on the far side of the building, away from the flames and destruction. 

Bucky was there. Bucky was waiting.

He grabbed at the small pier, dragging himself up, out of the water, panting.

Bucky saw him. Bucky was limping towards him. They crashed somewhere in the middle, mouths meeting, hands clutching. Bucky was whispering his name over and over, and Steve held him as tight as he could.

“They wanted me to leave,” Bucky panted. “They wanted me to go.”

“I know.” Steve ran his cheek along Bucky’s. “I know, Buck. I’m here. With you.”

Bucky’s bite on his neck made him gasp.

“Buck!”

“You’re mine,” Bucky growled against his throat. “I don’t care who knows it, you little punk.”

Christ, it was the worst time for Bucky to get possessive. “Jesus, Buck…”

He should have backed off, but Bucky was pulling him closer, a hungry look in his eyes. Steve wanted it just as badly. Too many years hiding.

Sam was there, saying something. Burning building. Dangerous. Get a fucking room.

Steve didn’t give a damn. He backed Bucky up against the wall, both of them clawing at each other like animals.

Bucky tossed his head back, baring his throat. “Christ, Steve!”

Steve lifted his head, breathing hard. They could still stop. Go and do it somewhere sensible like regular people. But he didn’t want to stop, and if Bucky didn’t want to…

“Here?” he whispered.

Bucky met his eyes. “Now,” he panted.


	44. Chapter 44

It wasn’t how Steve had ever pictured a physical relationship starting with Bucky.

Even when they sagged to the ground at the bottom of the wall, Bucky’s hand leaving bruises on Steve’s back, Steve’s dick still buried in Bucky’s ass, he couldn’t quite process what the hell had happened.

Bucky had his face buried in Steve’s throat, and he was panting, trembling. He nuzzled Steve’s throat, murmuring some kind of bullshit.

Steve tried to gather the scattered pieces of his brain. “We gotta go,” he murmured. “C’n’you walk?”

“Mm.” Bucky hissed between his teeth as he levered himself up to his feet, pushing his shoulders back against the wall. Steve could see the wet smear of semen on Bucky’s ass and his own thighs and belly, and felt his cheeks flushing hotly.

Christ, they’d just screwed each other into the wall of the building, as it burned.

Bucky looked down at him expectantly, leaning heavily against the wall. He offered down one hand, and Steve grabbed it at once, pulling himself to his feet. They both staggered, leaning against each other.

The smoke was getting thicker and darker, obscuring the sky. Steve squinted out, as he pulled his uniform back in place and Bucky hauled his pants up. 

Getting a clear path from the island took luck, but they managed it, half-swimming, half-wading across the narrowest point in the river to the closest bit of land. Bucky was reeling on his feet, and Steve knew he needed to rest.

He left Bucky hidden in undergrowth, stripped down to his pants and shirt, and headed out to the streets. He’d tripped over the line into felonies before. It wasn’t something you forgot. 

It took him all of no time to pick an unsuspecting businessman’s pocket. A car was trickier, but he got it in the end, and within two hours, he and Bucky were holed up in a hotel, with a stash of food.

Bucky didn’t say a word the whole time. He just sat, looking at Steve like he was home. Even when Steve was trying to clean up the worst of the burns and bind his ribs, Bucky just sat, touching him. It wasn’t even intimate. It was just casual, content touching, brushing fingers along his arm, over his shoulder, down his jaw.

It was safe and comfortable, and as much as Steve fussed and told Bucky to sit still, there was something about it that made him feel warm down to his toes.

When he was done, and they’d both wolfed down a pizza, Bucky finally spoke for the first time in hours. 

“You bought me dinner,” he said, shifting on his ass deliberately, like he was uncomfortable, “so I guess we’re even.”

Steve almost choked on his bite of pizza. 

He looked at Bucky accusingly, and saw the small, hopeful smile on Bucky’s lips.

“You’re an ass,” Steve declared, wiping cheese off his chin.

Bucky’s small, shy smile widened, and he leaned closer to kiss him again.


	45. Chapter 45

The fall of SHIELD wasn’t the end of it.

Bureaucracy always got in the way, and Steve was called up before a Senate hearing, flanked by Sam and Natasha. Bucky was there too, even if no one else knew it, and the more the officials tried to shift blame to him, the angrier Steve became.

Natasha had leaked all of SHIELD and HYDRA’s secrets onto the internet. They knew everything there was to know. There were records of the Winter Soldier, by reputation at least, and the military and defence departments were looking for a ready scapegoat, especially one who wasn’t there to speak out or defend himself.

Until he was.

Bucky was always the one who was there to watch Steve’s back. He was probably the only person in the room apart from Sam and Natasha who could see that Steve was seriously contemplating punching the General in the head.

Funny how people became less-inclined to blame someone for something that wasn’t their fault when he was standing right in front of them. 

Bucky spoke calmly, eloquently, and bitingly, and Steve could not have been prouder. 

He wasn’t ever going to be the Bucky from before the war, but then Steve was never going to be little Steve Rogers again. War changed people, but he and Bucky had both grown in the same direction. They’d both been torn out of their time, and their own experience, and now, had to learn everything all over. 

Now, at least, they had someone else who knew what that was like.

Bucky was waiting for Steve when he left the courthouse, leaning against the wall, cigarette between his fingers. An old habit of his, Steve remembered. The little things that reminded them both of the old days, as well as the new.

Steve gave Bucky a smile as Natasha and Sam dispersed the reporters.

“Want to go for a ride, Barnes?” he asked. “There’s an apartment in Brooklyn waiting for us.”

Bucky’s smile was small, but warm. “Sure, punk,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

They headed out of the city, Bucky pressed up tight against Steve’s back, his arms around Steve’s waist. They were still working out how things were going to be between them, but the way Steve figured, that was the same for any guy in a relationship.

They had an apartment put aside for them under a false name, arranged by Natasha, and they had time to work things out. It wasn’t often that a super soldier ended up living with the assassin who was sent to betray him, especially not an assassin tormented by nightmares, whose memories were still coming back in fragments.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

Bucky squeezed his waist as they sped along the road. “Can we pull over for donuts?” he yelled into Steve’s ear, pointing at a sign up ahead. “They do them with sprinkles!”

Steve couldn’t help smiling. 

It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was going to be worth it.


End file.
